Go with the Flow

I woke this morning with a splitting headache. My thinking-self began to analyze and decipher, "Why?" How often I ask, "Why?" Why do certain things happen over others? Why do people make the choices they do? Why do I feel this way? The question "Why?" permeates my brain more than I would like to admit.

I began writing a post this morning about Restorative yoga. I had a detailed account of the different types of yoga and why (there's that words again!) I traditionally choose the more aggressive, intense styles of yoga. I want to explore and know why I prefer rigorous forms over others. The answer is: it does not matter. The answers to the question "Why?" is usually, "It does not matter."

Countless people have written books with pages, upon pages filled with reasons for WHY things happen. Why "good" things happen to "bad" people (is it the other way around?) and the like. Really, it is life. Simply put, I know, and it is the truth. For whatever reason, I am not meant to know why things happen. I can often look back and see how I've grown and changed, how I wouldn't have come to a certain place without what transpired. The reality is, the process is the process. I must trust the process, especially when it doesn't make sense.

I have come to truly believe we are not given more than we can handle, and when the shit hits the fan, that's a challenging phrase to embrace. When I have gone through my biggest struggles, I come to take it as a compliment: "Spirit must believe I am strong." One of the greatest gifts I have received from the challenges of the last thirteen months is to keep moving forward. When I stop and try to decipher the "Why?" of it all, I get stuck. I am stuck in the treacherous pain, the fear, and the unbearable realities. When my brain begins to think, I miss so many of the miracles. When I allow the process to continue, taking what I need and leaving the rest (mainly the "why" of it all), I am able to truly see the miracles and find gratitude.   

Whether there is a God up in heaven planning my entire life or I was part of a pow-wow with Spirit to plan this journey, life is a process that keeps moving. The process does, however, require some flow for the ebb. I have grown so accustomed to the fast-paced flow of life that I forget to slow down. I want to move through my pain as quickly as possible, emerging from the other side changed, better. It's why Restorative yoga is challenging for me AND the restoration after the fast-paced, intense, painful, unbearable practice is a must for me to truly gain the benefits of the practice. 

There's where my work lies: to release my need to understand and embrace the flow of my life, slowly. Sometimes, that means sitting in the discomfort, pain and agony and reaching for something higher than my mind - a Power greater than myself that can embrace, hold, and transform!  

Blessings on the Journey!

Patience to Let Go and Let God

It takes time to truly embrace the implications of "Let Go and Let God." Admitting powerless has taken me years... and years... and years to do and then, I pick up my will all over again. I pick up the obsessions with worldly wealth, prestige or power and forget my primary purpose. Why am I here? Am I here to build financial wealth, change the world, and live it up? Maybe. All I know is that as I continue in my daily life, more and more of my primary purpose is revealed. I don't think I am supposed to know its grand plan and then carry it out. I believe I am unraveling as I go and THAT takes patience. It takes my doing the best I can, showing up to my life wherever I am, and then letting go of the results. Don't leave before the miracle happens.
I had a miracle happen a few weekends ago. OK, I have miracles happen daily- this one stands out for me right now. Sometimes one miracle stands out more than another. This one really pushed me beyond what I thought I could handle, and that's (maybe) the point.

May 4, 2014
7:55 AM

Yesterday was the day: the crawlspace exploration. My husband (John) and I learned the day before of a few gallons of standing urine in our crawlspace. Our anxiety welled, with the impending descent under our house. I was more concerned with the space to get TO the issue - only enough room to squeeze through on my stomach, close my eyes, and pray no sediment creeps into any of my orifices. We dressed - long jeans with knee socks pulled up over, long sleeved t-shirt tucked into my underwear and a stocking cap of one of the kids. Flashlights, knife, a jar of baking soda and air neutralizer, and a racing heart, and we set off. I kept beating my chest, with a primal-pumping-up as a goal. I. Was. Terrified. I am pretty sure John was terrified, too.

I went into the crawlspace, slowly taking stock of any movement, shadows or smells. I wanted to be fully aware of my surroundings. John joined me and without thinking, I lay on my stomach, closed my eyes and began to scoot. I opened my eyes and mouth for a brief moment, absentmindedly and inhaled dust - coughed - closed everything up again and proceeded. Talk about being in the moment!?

I calmed the second my legs could creep up under me into hands-and-knees position. I assessed with the flashlight as I waited for J to wriggle through. I was so grateful it was more open on the other side. There were no shadows, no sounds (but the voices and footprints of our children above), and nothing moving. We proceeded. The waft of urine began to envelope us and it didn't seem to faze me. I take that as a gift, considering days before I was almost vomiting in my kitchen because of the smell. As I crawled, I continued to check. My main concern was some animal - those feral cats two doors down were in and out several weeks ago.

Then, we saw the first puddle: standing urine, with sediments normally found in crawlspaces and insulation. At first glance, there seemed to be only one puddle, then I looked to my right and saw several more puddle. There seemed to be close to three gallons of sewage waste. J came in to scope out the toilet and, sure enough, the insulation in that area was drenched in whatever combination of liquid this waste was. He also noticed wet wood and suspected wood rot. I saw a crack in a pipe running out from our kitchen. The pipe looked like someone had kicked it or fell on it. As we continued to assess the situation, we noticed cat poop and fur. My assumption that the cat fur was simple shedding was wrong, and the depths of disgusting findings only expanded. Maggots. Dead kitten. Cat poop. (I will leave out any more details at this point).

I sat with it all. The movement of the maggots sent me over the line. I began to cry. We both were crying. As we sat there, in our sewage-infested crawlspace, my grief welled. I stayed with it and, then, as if by magic, I began to laugh. I heard a voice, "Remember that hidden value in your crawlspace? Here it is. This is it." I told J, "This is the hidden value in our crawlspace." Months before, I had recurring dreams of some hidden wealth under our house. Surely, I thought, it would be some buried treasure and NOT this.

"John, are you laughing yet?"
"No."
"Stick with it; get to the laughter."

We sat there, in all the muck and smell, all the things that had transpired in the last 13 months, and my fear disseminated instantly. I felt peace. I felt my God - not laying answers at my feet or performing a miracle of turning urine into wine. I felt the love. None of it made any sense. Everything I thought I knew about God, Jesus, spirituality and love has turned out to be mere gateways to a deeper awareness.

So we did what we needed to - cut plastic, let it drain, and sprinkled baking soda. We loaded the cat carcass into the empty mason jar, using fallen insulation to round up the pissed, disoriented maggots that were scrambling about. As urine rolled into my right knee, I stepped back. I was calm.

We left and I did get a little stuck. I was Pooh and needed my Piglet to pull me out. The day before, a friend had just mentioned this parallel in venturing into the crawlspace. John and I sort of resemble this pair. I have a tendency to overeat, my jolly disposition and disregard for time and space can sometimes get me stuck places, while John's fears can often leave him wanting to hide under the bed. And who has always been there to pull me out (literally this time)? Him.

Whether I choose to believe Jesus is "the son of God" or "Man" or whatever modern Christianity calls him, I felt Jesus in my crawlspace. I continue to feel this presence more personal than any God of my childhood - this love that envelops my Spirit and calms my Soul. This is trusting the process, being patient with the growth, and letting go and allowing the God of my understanding to infiltrate my life.

Blessings!