There’s always more to do.
Even as projects finish and years come to a close, there is always more to reach for.
And yet, with all of the rest I’ve had lately, I am still looking for an end to all the work. Just 5 minutes of Nirvana; where I’m not pushing and pulling and prodding myself into the more committed yogi version of myself, or the blogging version or the 2014-get my life right- novelist- renaissance woman version. Just happy and resting and being myself.
When I think of peaceful resting, savasana (corpse pose if we wanna keep it real) usually comes to mind. That beautiful, restful pose at the end of our yoga practices where we can lie down and rest our weary muscles. “Melt into the mat,” as some of the more dramatic teachers may describe it. But as delicious as it feels, not after long, we’re being asked to jump back out into the world and get back in the fight to be something or someone.
Obviously we can’t stay there plastered on the floor forever. However good it feels to lie in repose, there is always something else to move on to.
That is, until corpse pose is no longer a voluntary position.
For me, the transition from rest to action hardly ever feels pleasant. The stillness of savasana seems to always end too soon. Stepping out of the studio, back into bright lights and loud sounds, has always tempered some of my enthusiasm for going to practice yoga in the first place.
And thus, that’s what I felt during this New Year transition. The annoying, gnawing feeling that its time to get up.
On New Year’s Day 2014, I found myself in a new city, with old friends, and like most I suppose, looking forward to a new start. I called everyone I know in this city to gather at my house, in hopes that I could keep the spirit of merry drunken holiday gatherings tumbling on into the New Year.
There was dinner and celebration, but at some point in the evening, the mood turned decidedly heavy. Not sad, but important. Purposeful. Seeking. Talk of life’s purpose and spirituality replaced the vapid chatter I hoped would carry me across the threshold into the New Year. And once again I felt like I was being peeled off of my mat a little too soon. Playtime was over. And it irritated the hell out of me.
It was a friend’s birthday; the conversations started innocently enough with a bit of fun banter about numerology and birthday meanings. Then someone mentioned/requested I go grab my tarot cards. I love tarot, but I know it’s not a party trick. Many have grinningly asked for a reading as if pulling cards is a roadside carnival attraction, only to end up angry and offended when their inner most hopes and fears are laid bare on a card table.
So, when the cards were mentioned, I was happy to help, but all the while, I was wishing the group would steer itself back toward discussions of weight loss resolutions and winter weather expectations.
I read for everyone at the table. I am always simultaneously surprised and yet unsurprised when the cards are so spot on as they were that night. We all had different messages, but what rose to the surface resoundingly for me is that: Its time to get up.
Not just wake up and stare at the ceiling.
But also not without reverence and respect for the rest. The rest is not to be belittled. It simply has its own place and space that should not be disturbed, just as the rest should not disturb the work.
So it’s with that that I start this year. And as irritating and bristly as the cold air will feel against my body as I walk out the door, stasis
don’t wont make it.