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A note from Robin – Spring 2008

Grat-i-tude: An appreciative awareness and thankfulness, as for kindness shown or something received.

A dawn fog has settled over the valley, but high in the sky patches of blue cut their way through the swaths of mist, promising a crisp, bright winter morning. A day of no rain, the first after several soaked and dreary days: Days that begin with torrents pounding on the rooftop, the air so thick with moisture it appears like dusk even at mid-day, and end with the night slipping in like a slight-of-hand trick, seemingly just when the light begins to break. One day of sun - ahhh… amen.

If we were in California or Ethiopia, the sun would not be so impressive. In fact, there we'd receive the rain as a savior from wildfires, from drought, a life-preserving guardian angel. It seems that appreciation flourishes in the mirror of deprivation, or lack of that which we desire, whether it's sunlight, or love, health or chocolate.

We're very good at focusing on what we don't have, what we don't want. This past year my life has been unseasonably stormy, many aspects seemingly blown apart by tornado-like winds, which stripped away nearly everything that had represented home and comfort to me. Each day I'd come to my practice feeling the hollow ache of "wanting things to be different", the very definition of "dukha", or suffering in the yogic teachings. Sometimes I'd move strongly through postures, channeling my angst into a physical outlet, unable to even make contact with my breath until I released some of the tension. Other days, I'd sit, unable to move, physically paralyzed, as my mind chased after thoughts, while images looped in a perpetual nightmarish replay. Then the breath would appear, like a small patch of blue - soothing me. From somewhere deep inside, the vibration of my mantra would sound. At first the words not even distinguishable, yet the rhythm so familiar to me after years of repetition, like my own pulse beating, reminding me of something else, something beyond the grief, beyond the heartache. ahhh… amen.

They say that we practice not so much for our life, but to prepare us for death. Death of the body is just one way in which we confront impermanence. Everyday, we incur losses, little deaths: The ending of a long-standing relationship, the selling of a house, an illness that suddenly redefines who we believe ourselves to "be", because of limitations in what we are able to "do". It was there on my mat this summer that I found the eye of the storm. The swirl around me never ceased, but I could feel the immanent light of That which continues in spite of what's laid to waste.

While certain pieces of my life disintegrated, what emerged was an incredible circle of love and support from friends, family and community. I suddenly realized the depth of their care and respect for me. It had been there all the time, but I hadn't been able to recognize and appreciate it fully until… until I allowed some of my beliefs to die, along with the attachment to the way things were.

Nothing ever is the way it was. The fog has now re-enveloped the blue, and there's no sign of sun in sight. But, I know it's there - and, I know it will reappear, even if I'm shrouded in clouds for weeks on end. I am grateful, so grateful for all of those who knowingly or unknowingly shined their light to help me see my way through the hard, months of inner darkness. Every smile, word of encouragement, book recommendation, hug - it mattered. You were my sun. Now, as the winter digs in its heels, my heart is radiating with a kind of summer joy. The resilience of the human spirit is truly remarkable. May we remember how much we all need one another and pray to never withhold that divine light of love. Ahhh… Amen.

This Note is dedicated to Tom and Linelle Eckhout in memory of their son, Jarrod.

Blessings,

The Yoga Barn, Inc.
Robin Rothenberg, Certified Yoga Instructor
660 NW Gilman Blvd., Suite C6, Issaquah, WA  98027
Studios located in both Issaquah and Fall City
Phone: 425.427.0038  -  Fax: 425.427.0613
E-mail: info@yogabarn.com  -  Web: www.yogabarn.com

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