In my life and in my practice lately, I feel like I’ve been fighting too hard, trying too hard, pushing too hard. I end up breaking myself again and again. Part of this is an expression of grief. My heart has been broken recently– by the death of my father, my mother’s stroke, challenges with my marriage. This has left my heart weary.
Last night in my practice I closed my eyes and imagined I held my heart. I wanted to see what was going on with it. My journal entry about the practice is below:
When I held my heart, I noticed that the front of my heart was charred, was burned, was covered in once molten metal gone hard. Behind the char, my heart was red, beating, glowing. I let myself feel into the part of my heart that was vital, alive, healthy.
The healthy part was so much bigger than the hurting part. My heart’s love extended behind me, into the forest, it filled the spaces between the trees and within the trees. Above me, beyond me, into the universe all around, within me.
It was as though I had been trying to force all of my love, all of my effort out of a tiny hole in the front of my chest. I thought I had to push it through there…
But no. When I allowed my love, my heart, my selfness to express behind me, the energy, the love, sifted out easily. Filtered. Breezed.
There was no forcing.
I felt relief.
* * * * * * * * * *
I wrote on the page about some strange folks that showed up at the park where I was practicing, the park I practice at regularly. Practicing in a vital city park shared by many others has its challenges. I didn’t feel safe around this particular group of people, but once they left, I felt at home again.
Some basketball players that I see often were playing, and one of them knows me. I’ve talked to him over the last few months about the journey he’s on in his life right now. Just having that one person there who knows my name, who sees me, makes me feel safer.
This is how I’m looking to feel. Safe. Comfortable, content, at ease, not pushing too hard.
I walked away from practice last night feeling like I’d had a little taste of success at being a little more content.
Michelle Folk Johnson 