Claiming My Sensitivity

A poetic photographer gifts me a memory from a sweet summer.

***

I wake to the stories of yesterday. I feel the precious weight of the newborn placed so trustingly in my arms. I taste the cinnamon cereal shared as a snack with a spirited six-year-old while filling in the pages of a mermaid coloring-book. I hear the rage, hopelessness and fear in the young woman’s voice as she says, “I don’t want to hear another ‘I told you so.’”

I think of these women at the shelter, I think of their starry-eyed little ones. Our lives momentarily overlap. I only catch a small fragment, a quick snapshot of their story, now fading into an impression, into a feeling. The feeling blooming is love flowing into a fierce, sacred whisper to the Universe wishing them wellbeing, safety, and radiant rising.

I wake to their narratives and to a curiously peaceful heart. I am learning, then.

This is a dose of daily soul work: to be an open heart in this raw world, to be an alert listener to the stories of my fellow travelers and still be centered in my being. This is a challenge. I tend to absorb others’ heartbreak as my own.

I soak in emotional energies like a sponge: a phone call, a quick glimpse of the headlines, a poignant film, a brief exchange echoes in my being and whips waves of emotion that can either uplift or sink my spirits for days, or even weeks.

This sensitivity to places, people and energies is a natural part of my wiring, and I’m just now learning to work with and not against my sensitivity. I am peeling back the voices of misunderstanding teachers, judgmental family members and fifth grade bullies to hear and honor the soft voice of my sensitivity.

My sensitivity is a wild creature whom I use to fear. Sensitivity ignites me to  feel intensely, makes me dizzy in crowds, causes me to be overly stimulated in loud and busy environments. 

I’m now learning to nurture this artistic beast through routine that satisfies its craving for solitude, nature, and art. I restore through daily meditation, walks in nature (I relish a stroll in the cold; I feel so utterly alive), time spent freely journaling and reading works that sing straight to my center. I practice compassion toward self (because it’s a daily decision to show kindness) when I’m stressed, vulnerable, fearful, and when I’m content and joyful. By softening toward myself, I’m softening toward others, and I’m softening to the world without taking on the world.

The practice is the work shift at the shelter, a world pulsing with stories, heartbreaks, hopes, sorrows and dreams.  I feel for the young woman missing her purse, feel her frustration, her anger, her desire to discharge the blame, and I stay connected to my breath as I help her search, not taking on her feelings, just simply being present for her and myself. Instead of being scrambled with feelings, I am able to be in the moment. I see the incredible strength and poise the six-year-old exudes as she answers her mother in Spanish, then directs her unwavering gaze at me and asks for her mother, “What is it that you need?”

I need to be awake in this moment, to listen wholeheartedly, to be a gentle witness to the stories, and still wake in the morning fully empowered in my sensitive self. This is my soul work as a sensitive being. And I’m softening into the journey. 

Meditating In A Brewery

When you complain, you make yourself a victim. Leave the situation, change the situation, or accept it. All else is madness. – Eckhart Tolle 

***

In the comfort and serenity of a beloved yoga studio nestled in the Kentucky woods, I prepare for meditation. I sit tall, let my eyes gently and feel the presence of the breath. As I grow quiet, the once soft layers of sound, the whisper of the wind, the song of birds, the hum of the heater, become suddenly loud.

“There will always be noise,” the teacher says as if reading my mind, “but you can always come home to the stillness beneath the noise by returning to the breath.”

A week later, I repeat this piece of wisdom to a tribe of yogis settling down to meditate in a popular downtown brewery. Away from the tranquility of the woods, away from the quiet of the yoga studio, right in the center of a Wednesday night in a downtown hot spot, her words take on new significance and a sense of urgency.

Big city yoga is how I like to describe this brewery yoga class to inquiring minds. Mat-to-mat and limited space, a yogi must be conscious of all movements, otherwise a neighbor shall be unintentionally hit while launching into a half-moon pose, or toes shall smack a nose when flying up into locust. Every Wednesday night, the beer garden transforms into a yoga space: a loyal tribe of professionals, local artists, and college students arrive at least thirty minutes early to secure a coveted spot. The bare floor becomes a colorful canvas of brightly patterned yoga mats. Shoes become cubbies for car keys and cell phones. There are a few daring yogis who drink a beer before (or during) class. This is all part of the adventure of brewery yoga…and the noise.

The noise tonight, though, is louder than usual. The stereo is mistakenly left on in the beer garden, so an instrumental version of popular Christmas songs plays through meditation. The music is an additional layer to the hisses booming occasionally from the brewing machinery, and the rise and swell of laughter rippling out from the accompanying room where people gather for an after-work beer.

As I project and continue on the meditation (this is where theater training serves me tremendously: the show/yoga class must go on!), I feel the rise of irritation. I care about these students and want a tad bit more quiet for them. The instant I wish the moment to be different is when I feel myself veering from my connection to center.

Another piece of wisdom from an effervescent yoga teacher emerges and brings peace: “The ego mind is always going to want the moment to be different, and we lose our peace by fighting the reality of what is present. Let go the resistance. Let the moment be exactly as it.”

I surrender. I let the moment be exactly as it is – loud, but a loudness shimmering with the vibrancy of life: people at work, people sharing stories, people flirting, a local business thriving. I am a quiet witness to the world, present within and present in the hustle and bustle. Once I let the moment be as it, I feel a steadiness, a peace, and from there, I can teach.

A few days later, I find myself  thinking of the brewery yoga class and the gift of lessons it brings right in time for the holiday season. Finding a sense of inner peace is always easy when I am on meditating in the serenity of a yoga studio. The real meditation occurs off the mat. The real meditation is finding and staying connected to the peace beneath the noise of our lives and offering our genuine presence to the moment, whatever the moment holds.

During the holiday season, in my household, and with such pure-hearted intention, there is a desire for the holiday to be perfect, for everyone to be happy, and for the gatherings to go smoothly; but the holidays can be stressful and a rollercoaster of emotion. The brewery class prepares me to stay connected to my center as I ride the holiday rush. The brewery noise sharpened my focus and my commitment to be present and be with what is, and enhanced the joy and love I feel for teaching that class. The class is my spiritual reminder to let the moment be exactly as it (glistening with twinkle lights or tense with strained family dynamics), and let people be exactly as they are (joyful or grouchy).

Whatever the holiday holds for you, dear reader, and I hope it holds such joy and ease, remember in times of conflict and stress to return to the peace beneath the chaos by coming home to the breath. To be a presence of peace  in the midst of activity and stillness is a treasured gift for you and the ones you share this holiday season with.

Go gently and sweetly. Namaste, Loves.