Shavasana

My boys are at school. My girls are at co-op. James is at work and I've parked myself on the blue velvet couch in our living room. The house is cool and quiet and without the big screams from little mouths that usually fill these walls I hear sounds I didn't know existed in my domain--the gentle hum of the breeze through my open window pane, the chirping of baby birds on our birch, an occasional revved engine on Westwood Blvd sure, but mostly I hear the silence of solitude. Being alone is louder than I remember it, and so unusual for me that I'm finding it hard to concentrate, hard to relax, hard to enjoy. I told myself that today would be the day that I ended my writing strike and hashed out some words once and for all and that time is now, I'm alone and only for another 30 minutes, but the hum and the chirps and the revs and yes, still a few uninvited scurries in the attic find me paralyzed and unsure of what I should say or write or do or be.

On Thursday a few friends and I got together for a session of twilight yoga. It had been a typical day in my abode which basically means the kids and I were shuffling from one activity to another at tireless speeds with over-tired crabby girls and excessively-energetic crazy boys. I shoveled food in their faces, the babysitter showed up with moments to spare and I was off to Back to School Night for my Ever Knight. The plan was to leave early because I was, in fact, slightly responsible for this yoga event at the temple but since I'm invariably late at life I found myself changing from jeans to spandex in the parking lot and running barefoot across the lawn to meet up with my sweet friends who had already started their session. I'm admittedly not a yogi. I can't touch my toes, or my knees for that matter, and this was the first formal yoga I've ever done. I downward dog-ed with the rest of them, albeit sometimes modified, but was shocked during the session at how sore the whole thing was making me. I mentioned it to the instructor who I think thought I was joking because seriously, did I really think that these stretches were instantly making my body sore?! Well, no, I guess not. But then what was I feeling?

We closed our yoga session with a 5-minute Shavasana. Previously unaware of what that word even meant, I quickly learned that it's basically the definition found in the dictionary describing Heather's heaven. Lying flat on our backs with soft music playing in the background, we were misted with lavender spritz, had cool rags placed over our faces and feet and were given time to think, and feel and be. It was a struggle to calm both body and mind at first, but before long the whole me was heavy and my soul felt free. It wasn't long before the tears were flowing and I understood that what I had mistaken for sore muscles caused by my stretching was actually tense muscles caused by my life that I am usually too busy, too stressed and too stretched to address. Me is lost in the sea of them at this stage of my life, and while I know that what I'm doing is important and meaningful and the right thing for our family, I still find that in many ways I'm a ghost and a stranger to who I used to be, and maybe even to who I currently am. My body was tense and it took a 30-minute stretch sesh to feel it and minutes of meditation to give it words, and just typing that makes me feel sorry for a body that's strong and beautiful, sacrificing and generous, but so often forgotten and under-appreciated.

I don't know why that memory just came to me as I sit here in silence on my blue velvet couch, but maybe last week's Shavasana is trying to teach me that I'm worthy of a moment to be still and ponder who I am and want to become. Heck, I'm worthy of a moment to be still and ponder absolutely nothing at all! Maybe I'm supposed to learn to exchange my current anxious feelings of "I should be accomplishing something RIGHT NOW" with feelings of peace and love and the knowledge that in allowing myself some time I may be accomplishing something greater than any dishes or laundry or even a great piece of writing ever could. And maybe when my soul feels safe and free and heavy with acceptance even just for a few minutes, inspiration will flow and once again I'll find my words.

There's only one way to find out.

Namaste.