Remember Your Divinity.

I’ve been contemplating yoga teacher training for awhile now. Over the weekend I went to Inner Spring’s teacher training open house.

I don’t actually see myself as a teacher, just someone who loves yoga and craves a deeper understanding of its role in my life. When I think of my loss journey my asana practice is deeply intertwined in the roots of my grief.

Last night before bed I was reviewing the application again. I’ve yet to place any ink to paper but have written my answers over and over again in my mind. “Where do you see yourself in five or ten years?”

I saw the question and actually laughed out loud. Abby a year and a half ago had all the answers and methodically thought out plans. Last night I wondered if I could write, “I have no idea” and let it be.

I’ve spent the better part of my life planning it in hopes that it might flow in the way I want it to, but it doesn’t work that way. I’m continually reminded that I’m not in control of what happens, just my response to the happenings.

Maybe that’s why I’m having a hard time thinking of the commitment of YTT that begins next April. I have no idea what 2017 will look like. I only know today, this moment.

I am present.

I am breathing.

I am alive.

April, 2017.  I had planned to have a baby who just celebrated his second birthday.  Because he couldn’t, I had planned to give birth a second time.  Because I won’t, a part of me is afraid to commit to the things I love anymore for fear they’ll be taken away.

What are we called to do?  Plan anyway?

Recently in class Carrie told told us we each hold a divine power, yet we easily forget.  She encouraged us to call on our faith when we forget our divinity.  How do we break the self-imposed barrier of fear?  Faith?  A tremendous personal struggle of mine as of late.

In grief counseling last week Jim shared a story his pastor previously shared with him.  A pastor was preaching to his congregation and every Sunday the same man came and sat in the same seat and stared out the same window for the entire sermon.  The pastor assumed the man wasn’t listening until one day, he sat in the man’s seat.  The pastor looked out the window and realized the man was staring at his wife’s grave.  The pastor realized it didn’t matter what he said, the man was getting exactly what he needed.

It’s true that no one really understands until they’ve sat in our seats.

May I remember my divinity and have faith that living in the moment, because it’s all I can grasp, is okay.

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