Do you remember road trips with the family? When you were a kid, brimming with anticipation, unable to contain your excitement. Heading to Grandma’s house, the cottage, a theme park or maybe just a quick jaunt to the ice cream shop. These trips were usually riddled with,
“Are we there yet?”
“But seriously mom, are we there yet?”
If you have parents like mine, they probably set a limit to the number of times this question could be asked. I was allowed three “are we there yets” or its close cousin, “how much longer until we’re there?”. Once we hit the max, mom and dad would deny access to knowledge, yet effectively maintain their parental sanity.
Teaching yoga, I sometimes feel like my parents. I watch people rush through the practice with this “are we there yet” look across their faces. I sometimes do the same in my own practice, depending on my frame of mind and willingness to be present to the process.
We didn’t have phones or ipads to distract us on road trips back in the day. That’s right kids. The interwebs had not woven its way into existence. But I do recall learning to love gazing out the car window at the ever changing scenery. The frequent drive from St. Catharines up to Belleville we took to see my grandparents would have an ever evolving tone depending on the season.
And then there was the arrival.
We would creep up a winding country lane to come upon their wonderful home. The house my grandparents had designed and built was nestled in the corner of the woods and perched on the shore of a tiny bay.
I didn’t live in a crazy, busy city. Even so, as we spilled out of the mini van, the quietness of the countryside would slowly billow in my chest, clearing out excess worries of school, friends, family — all the deep and dark concerns a 10 year old could muster and attempt to hold in their tiny body would start to fall away.
Sivasana holds the same healing effects as tumbling out of my parents Chrysler into the crisp night air and a star filled sky of my Grandparents home. Worries clear from the mind and tensions melt from the body.
Too often we rush away from these quiet moments. However, in retrospect, they are contenders for the most beautiful moments we will ever experience in our lives.
These private, quiet times are meant for us to cherish. It is their hushed tone, their tender and precarious nature that makes them so beautiful. If you move too quickly, if you speak too loudly you can frighten these moments away.
These are the times where whispers are spoken between the heart and the mind. Although they are whispers, they are the strongest cords of truth that hold our internal lives together.
I want to extend an invitation. I invite you to really drop into these moments of arrival. Of course, learn to love the postures and the practice that guide us to these places of peace. Even more so, linger in these places of peace. When the body is held by the ground. When we roll to one side and cradle the body in that child like, fetal position, letting things consolidate and solidify. These are the precious, peace filled, precarious moments we have the chance to cultivate in our yoga practice, and by extension, in our day to day lives.
Look for them. Become more aware of when they appear. Lean into them and let them bring you back to yourself.
Lean away from “Are we there yet”. Instead whisper into quiet moments, “I am here.”
