There are a few moments when I’m doing an asana practice that I especially treasure and those are the moments when we move from one phase of the practice to the next. For example, the moment when we move into our first downward facing dog. Or, when we move from being on our hands and knees to standing at the top of the mat. Or when we move to the floor towards the end - oh man, that’s such a goodie.
What I love to do in these moments is take some time to just pause and feel how it is to be in my body in that moment. I really milk this. Potentially to the point of tediousness if you’re practicing with me. But for me, it’s the most sacred of moments, that pause. A chance to do absolutely nothing but bask in the afterglow of all that movement and breath and feel what’s alive in me. And it’s part of the discipline and challenge of practice, to be fully present.
In Hindu Mythology the elephant headed God Ganesha is the known as the weighty one - because he is the guru, the Spiritual heavyweight, full of wisdom. He is also the God of liminal spaces. He’s the one that stands at the threshold - you’ll often find his statue on the doorstep of yoga studios or homes of yogis. And his presence indicates that there is blessedness in those spaces.
When we take the moment to honour and be in the transition, when we don’t rush straight into the next phase and take a plump pause we’re acknowledging the sacredness of those moments.
The point of pausing is to take stock. To see what’s happening, in that moment. It’s an opportunity to recalibrate. For me, often these are the moments when I feel into a new direction. For example, I might have a plan for the yoga practice I’m doing but I’ll feel into the moment and sometimes be directed differently. It’s like the moment guides me where to go next. Sometimes the brain overrides with a “this is the plan” but sometimes something else will spontaneously arise that will tell me what it’s time for. A feeling of flow occurs when I ride that inner guidance.
What’s interesting is, that sometimes what I had planned and what ends up feeling more appropriate or right are quite different. And that bothers me a little. The mind feels confused and wants to make up a narrative about what happened and why it was different from my plan. The assumption being that the plan was perfect. Of course, the plan might have been perfect in the moment it was created but later well, not so much. Things change. Or I do.
I think sometimes we, or I at least, make plans for my life that feel really appropriate and in alignment with my values and all of those good things but then after a while, I outgrow it. Or things change. And the plan is no longer as good a fit for whatever reason. But it can be difficult to recognise that things aren’t on track once we’ve set ourselves on a course of action and are in the thick of it, especially so if we don’t ever take a sacred pause to check if we’re still feeling it.
Or, sometimes we might be well aware but we carry guilt or shame about the fact that we’ve committed to something and we no longer want to do it. We feel we must press on, a sense we have to show allegiance to our ‘old selves’ by being consistent. “You’ve changed!” can sometimes be considered an insult.
What would it be like to give ourselves permission to have a change of heart? To normalize checking in with ourselves frequently to feel how we would like to move from one moment to the next?
The other day I asked my son, Albie, how he would like to have his sandwiches - rectangles or triangles. “Mmmmm… triangles” he says. “Albie! You mean rectangles!” challenges his sister, who is five and knows he always chooses rectangles. Worried that he’s confused about the shape names, she emphatically draws a rectangle with her fingers in the air to show him. “No, today I choose triangles” declares Albie. “Okay” I say. “Triangles it is. You are totally allowed to change your mind buddy. Good on you mate.”
Recently I’ve been taking some time to recalibrate. We’ve landed in a new environment and I’ve been taking things very slow. Deliberately feeling into the experience of being where I am and trying to do very little and commit to very little until I feel compelled to and clear. I’ve been calling it my fallow season.
It’s been a discipline. Doing is familiar. Having someplace to be and something to do is a great way to distract myself from discomfort and anxiety of being in a new place. It also satisfies an egoic need to be important and have some sort of extra role or status.
But I’m treating the pause as sacred and all that arises - including the discomfort, the urge and compulsions to be busy and the anxiety, as well as all the beauty and wonder and joy - as blessings from the beyond and so I’m meeting them all with as much curiosity and kindness as I can summon.
Starting writing and sharing once weekly online feels like it was calling my name for a while and I’m glad that has emerged during this time. It’s just a tiny little shoot coming out of the Earth but gosh I’m delighted by it. I’m wondering what will next but committing to the discipline of pausing for now to feel before I take further action, trusting that my inner guide, the guru within will steer me right. That all will bloom when it’s meant to.
There are many moments of transition in our lives. Some other significant ones for me have been leaving school, traveling to Canada, waiting to have my babies, taking maternity leave.
For some of us, the pandemic has been an opportunity to pause our regular programming and recalibrate. (For some, it’s been nothing but survival mode and no self reflection has been possible in this time). But if for you, the former resonates, I’m wondering how have you been directed differently as a result of the pause? We’re still in quite a liminal space with it all, with many restrictions still in place, so perhaps you’re still recalibrating. If so, may the mighty Ganesha, the weighty one support you! And may all us experience the blessing current of Ganesha in all our moments of transition. Om Srī Gaṇeshāya namaḥ!