“Sit still.”
As kids we’re programmed to not like this phrase.
“Stop fidgeting!”
“Sit in your seat!”
“Behave yourself!”
These phrases ring in our ears well into adulthood. It makes sense that many of us build an aversion to stillness.
All too often, we didn’t get to move enough before we were asked to sit still. One hour of gym class?? Are you kidding me with this!? As a kid I wanted to be moving all the time. Not much has changed since I became a so called “grown up”. I still want to move, dance and play.
As I’ve aged and attempted to mature, my relationship with stillness has started to change. After years of moving and building forward momentum in all areas of my life I suddenly came to crave stillness. I find myself desiring the quiet that comes from solitude and serene moments.
Even with this new craving, it’s hard to permission myself to stop. I had come to equate stillness with stagnation, laziness or even failure. In a culture where busyness has become a status symbol, stillness has become a surprising new way to rebel.
Yoga gave me permission to be okay with stillness. It helped me realize that just because I’m standing still, doesn’t mean I’m not working. In actuality, slowing down takes more effort for me than moving forward. The fortitude and patience it takes to hold in one position, observing self while practicing being present to the moment can feel like running a marathon on the spot.
Think of a car. The amount of friction brakes exert in order to stop a vehicle’s momentum, creates so much heat they would burn you if you touched them. The same can be said for most humans. We move forward at such a rapid pace, the act of stopping ends up requiring a considerable amount of energy. If we don’t learn to stop ourselves, sooner or later we’re going to run out of road. Either that, or an obstacle may end up putting on the brakes for us.
Enter exhaustion.
Enter illness.
Enter burnout.
These roadblocks end up finding us in the end.
One of the ways I came to appreciate stillness was by practicing Tadasana or “Mountain Pose” aka – standing still.
It takes approximately 300 muscles to hold the body upright. In Tadasana we are taught to root the feet to the ground. Plant all ten toes into the earth and feel the back corners of the heels sink into the mat. Then imagine energy is being pulled up through the soles of the feel into the body, like tree roots pulling water and nutrients from the soil. The knee caps lift to engage the thighs, the belly draws in slightly to support the low back. Shoulders roll back opening the chest and stacking over the hips. The chin tucks slightly to elongate the neck and lengthen the spine. Everything is working. Everything is alive.
When we stop the body it also gives it a chance to regroup. We recuperate from whatever task was just performed, storing up new energy for the next task ahead. It’s a metaphor for life.
Weekends exist for a reason. We need downtime to restore ourselves so the week doesn’t look so bleak when Monday rolls around.
In the stillness we also hear our thoughts. This is not always the most pleasant of experiences. It gets easier the more we practice it. Also, remembering we have a choice as to what thoughts meet us in the quiet moments makes it slightly less daunting to submit to stillness.
Earlier this summer, a friend of mine gifted me with a beautiful clay bracelet.
“I thought of you when I saw this.” she said as she slid it across the dinner table during our evening together. My heart fluttered.
The bracelet read, “Be Still”
I immediately remembered a bible verse I had been raised with,
“Be still and know that I am God” Psalm 46:10
My Christian roots inform my existence every day, and the wisdom of this verse still reverberates with truth in my soul. As I studied different religions in university, and through my studies in yoga, they all spoke of this quiet inner wisdom that rises up from inside the heart when life around us settles down. To me, that voice is divine.
I listen for it. In the untouched early morning. On a deserted country road. As I lay my head down on my pillow at days end. This is when I hear that gentle, yet firm whisper inside of me. It speaks words like;
I love you.
Trust yourself.
You were not made to be perfect. You were made to be loved.
It always seems to know exactly what I need to hear. It waits patiently for me to stand still long enough. When I do, it never fails to love me back to life again.
Stillness is a gift. Stillness is a right that needs to be claimed daily. So I will practice stillness. Some days this requires climbing over hills of anxiety as I search for the valley of calm I so desperately need. But the journey is worth it.
My inner child still wants to run, jump and play. I will still do all those things. Only now, after I have played, I will teach myself to pause. I will find a moment of solitude and listen for that subtle voice inside. It lives in my heart. The same place that little girl I love so much also resides. The voice likes to tell that little girl exactly what she needs to hear. It whispers to her,
“Be still and know that you are loved.”
May you find peace in stillness.
