The Good, The ‘Bad’, and The Yogi
(Warning: the following post may contain crude, real life material that might not be suitable for perfect people)
Every night before bed, my boys and I curl up together and reflect on our day. We take turns ‘holding space’ for one another and make sure that we are all comfortable speaking our truth; respectful to not cross over into another’s time. (Sometimes, when the dog doesn’t try to abscond with it, we pass the talking feather.) We don’t have much of a format, per se, but we do pick a few good things to bring attention to, then some situations that we could have lived without, and lastly discussing how those experiences made us feel; how we can try to expand on them and how they can help us live a life with contemplative, compassionate and creative insight. Yes, they are young, but these concepts are as important, if not more, than times tables and the ABC’s. It provides a fantastic opportunity to connect to the state of awareness that carries us through our life. It is never too early to begin noticing what we are attached to, what we need more security with, and how, ultimately we are all growing into our voice, expression and authenticity. It’s not just for them, I have come to realize, but a staple to my personal well being as well. When sharing my day, I am incredibly cautious with tone, presentation, intention, criticism, semantics, delivery, accessibility…..I have to speak from a place of purity, a filtered state that honors their tender receptivity; it becomes an interesting practice. I have decided to internally to speak to myself with such softness and caution. This, I am sure will provide much content in the posts to come…check in next Sat.
As for our family night round up, looking back on our week our evening of sentimental sharing took a turn to the wonderfully idiosyncratic side of being human…..and lead us back, of course, to a poignant after thought. One of my sons (whom I am not allowed to say names or share details of the ‘incident’) had an embarrassing and ‘bad’ episode at school and refused to reflect upon it with any inspiring insight…..it just sucked, and that was that. There was no good side to it that he could see, no lesson to be learned, nothing, zip zilch, he shut down, clammed up and tuned my good-natured intentions out…far out….I became, so I felt, the annoying overly positive do-good mom. My kind, luring soulful words, my kisses and hugs didn’t do it, nothing broke him…until I started sharing about my week….until I started talking about my embarrassing week:
I had the kind of off week that snow balled into what felt like a graceless, clumsy, disoriented mess….a common side effect resulting from too much studying and academic over achievement.The kind of week when you teach a class and can’t remember right from left, up from down, trying to guide them into a place of grace and focus and encouraging them to take these lessons off the mat and into their life….and then as I leave, in front of dozens of students, trip and fall down the stairs, not just one flight, but two. Yes, that’s right people….GRACE off the mat. The kind of week a very handsome stranger asks you for a pen and you reach into your bag and hand him a Super Plus tampon, after he kindly pointed out you had blueberries stuck your teeth.The kind of week when you sit at a stop light wondering why the F*** people behind you are honking and giving you the finger, only to realize the light has been green for quite some time. This is almost as good as putting the car transmission in “R” for ride.The kind of week the milk goes in the pantry and the cereal box in the fridge….on numerous occasions.The kind of week your leave the house with mascara on only one eye (when you have blonde eye lashes this is quite noticeable).The kind of week you cause a huge stink at the bank teller because he didn’t give you back your i.d. when in fact it was in your wallet the whole time.The kind of week your rush out the door and put the closest clean shirt on, not noticing a pair of underwear stuck to your back.The kind of week you loose your voice from screaming so loud at your chicken who continues to attack you….literally, when stepping one foot into the yard, accosts you from afar, charging like a prehistoric Pterodactyl with a vengeance for your pale, caterpillar-like toes. Yes, this was all by Wednesday! You can only imagine what the next three days were like.The more I continued with my embarrassing daftly mom stories, the more his walls came down. However, the catalyst, which brought him to tears…tears of deep belly laughter and random bouts of snorting was in the instant that I, his well kept mother who in the midst of all her human confessions, let out an enormous fart! His heart opened and he rolled around the bed giggling in a sense of freedom and self acceptance that had been sweetly restored by my willingness to be honestly and humbly exposed.
Needless to say, my poetic concepts weren’t the tactic that would fold such a tight hand my son was playing. It was raw experiences, those that leave you feeling vulnerable to the world and yet can provide healing humor and lightness that reminds us life is supposed to be messy; that we don’t have to be perfect to be ‘good’ enough. It is from the messiness that we learn what unconditional love, support and expression is. How unfortunate to think that all expression has to be ‘right’ or beautiful or full of grace and enlightenment. The fact is, expression is expression, and the misfortune comes when we block it and judge it. Some of the things I love most about my family and friends are those quirky habits that break the rules and redefine the norm; it is their unique offering to even the most mundane scenarios that allow me a deeper glimpse into the realness of who they are. As with most of our lessons, the discipline comes from recognizing our ability to move out of the place of embarrassment, shame, attachment or fear and into a deeper place of acceptance, trust, wholeness and authenticity.
The best part of it all: “Mom, I am so happy you know how to do so many dumb things, it makes me love you even more!”
Many messy blessings,
Robin Afinowich
