tapestry

i sat for a few minutes this morning, and wondered how to start this entry. i wrote: the feeling of quiet is still persisting, which is true, and breathe in, breathe out, which is what i have been trying to do.

yesterday in my yoga class, the instructor kept talking about being in the present moment. she said that's why she was asking us to do so many difficult and strenuous postures - because by being in "slight pain", we wouldn't be able to lose mindfulness, and therefore would just stay in the moment.

that philosophy was of great help to me. yesterday i tried to stay aware of my feelings, but not let them overwhelm me. i walked a lot - from my apartment to the studio and back, to work and back, and each step i took i literally told myself, it's okay to feel what you are feeling. give yourself space. breathe. what happened during and after this was just...an understanding of my feelings as part of the bigger picture, not the picture. which was comforting in itself.

another thing i tried to do yesterday was receive the beauty that the universe was trying to show me. it came in a number of different ways: having a long talk about meditation, food, and yoga with my boss; being told that i had really helped a customer by recommending a certain herb for a blood cleanse; helping another customer navigate her total terror at being diagnosed with celiac disease; walking home in the evening under one of those night skies where you can still see all the clouds.

i came home and talked with banane for a while, then did some dishes and took my crock pot out of the cupboard. making soup is one of the most soothing, nourishing activities for me. it's incredibly simple: i chopped garlic and some onions, added the chicken bones and broccoli stems from last night's dinner, diced up two beets, mixed in a quarter of a yam, put in three tomatoes, added a fistful of rice and then filled up the pot with water. i spiced it the way i felt like in the moment (cumin, coriander, pepper, lemon, salt, dill, oregano, and bay), turned it on low, and then when i woke up this morning, i had soup.

after i made the soup i poured myself a drink and curled up on the couch to watch the first hour of the libertine, because really? who can't be cheered up by watching johnny depp play a nymphomanic?

and then i went to bed, in gloriously clean sheets, and spooned with a cat who is more and more reminding me of 'nana' from peter pan. and i woke up this morning and...well, it's still there, to be honest - that little pit of sad - but i understand it more. i know that if i just let it tell me what it needs to tell me, we will both be healed by it.

i learned a lot about this healing process from yesterday: that i am making progress, but that there will be set-backs. that it is all part of one continuum, and as long as i try to keep my heart open, even if it feels shut, i will be learning something.

continuum. that was the word that spun around in my head as i fell asleep last night. i mean it in the sense of a tapestry, which is how i tend to think of people's individual lives. the universe (or god, or whatever you would like to call what you believe in) picks souls and gives each the pattern that it is supposed to weave during its lifetime. sometimes you might run out of wool, or somebody will bump into you and spill coffee on the right hand corner - and at first you might feel sad - that all of a sudden, in mid-stitch, you had to switch from orange to purple wool,

or that you will never be able to get the smell of overboiled decaf out of it. but that's what makes your tapestry your own - those mistakes, the events that you were not able to control, and your responses to them, become reminders of the way you lived.

i'm living a pretty good one.

i found the picture of the second-hottest man in the universe here. *ahem* enjoy. i know i did.

the image of the tapestry i found here.