Day three of writing 1,000 words. I thought I would write about yoga. Could go one and on cause I love it so. Then I thought I could write about the ordinary extraordinary-how life’s little things are magical. But I don’t know…
Mr. B. He sits on the carpet in his beautifully finished basement-he did it all himself. He is sifting through a giant binder full of DVDs trying to choose his best escape. Movies are a place he goes to get away from his life. Adventure, heroes, honor. He doesn’t fully realize how much he has in himself. His job tears him down, his boss is a type of horrible I have never known. I wish I could whisper to him-you are wonderful. You are honorable. You are brave. I see the things you do, the back-breaking job you go to everyday, the sadness & disappointment in your eyes, the hurt of life. I think he feels weary of it all. Grown up hard. Struggles and constant uphill battles. He is so strong. I admire his tenacity-I have very little of it. His hands. Gracious. They can fix anything. He is tuned into the station of ‘fix anything you please and look good while doing it.’ Sigh. I am just a wee bit more than envious of his talents. Give him a problem and he can solve it-usually with a power tool and some tough love-cursing and hitting the object always seems to help. Growing up I did not have a dad who did things with his hands. He was an electrical engineer for the Air Force and dress blues everyday. The tools in his tool box were completely clean, unscratched and lined up perfectly in his toolbox in the garage. If he did try to fix something it took a long time and blood was always spilled. I have inherited this lovely skill. Plus, I was given the gift of no sense of direction. South what?! Mr. B, however, has both of these abilities like no other person I know. Put in a mirror in a load-bearing wall. Never done it before. Got it done. Little to no time. No big deal. It’s like instruction manuals just fly right into his brain. No reading necessary. Amazing.
Back to his (Mr. B) hands. Short, sausage fingers. Our wedding band on one finger. Nails so clean and short. His palms are even muscled! Hands that fix, soothe and repair. In awe. Have you ever looked at your hands and thought of all they do. Glennon Doyle Melton of Mommastery.com was on OWN and talked of her hands. How amazing they are. And we get two of them! She is so right. Sometimes we miss the gifts attached to our bodies. All the things they do. My hands smooth hair on blonde heads. Hold their lovely cheeks so I can bring their faces to my lips. My hands smell like lotion, sometimes like onion and usually like soap. They wash, wipe and repeat. My hands have long piano fingers on them, like my grandfather. They have scars from past dealings with knives (for chopping veggies, don’t worry). Fingers which fly over keys-on the computer or the piano. Muscles that hold memories. They can write letters. Write. Pen and paper. Wow. Old school joys. Hurray for journals!
Anyway, this life now. It’s a challenge. I can’t understand why we seem to be swimming upstream without paddles. For what purpose? We are surrounded by beauty and things we are thankful for. We have two lovely boys and a house. We are fortunate and blessed. I know this. Yet we fight. We want more. We know we have more to give this world. We long to share our skills & talents with more people. Just not sure how…
I am running out of thoughts to type. I don’t know what I am doing here. Just letting my fingers fly. Thoughts are stalled and no flow. Stop. A word. Stall.
Oh yoga. Ah yes yoga. My constant friend and companion. I use it throughout my day. It reminds me to breathe. To BE. I can twist, bend, reach. Stretch. Lengthen. Opens my heart and my soul. I feel like heart opens each time I get down on the ground and hug the earth. I feel my soul rise each time I lift my arms to the sky. My organs smile with the massage I give them with each twist and bend. My brain slows. Feels at peace. Breathing in I grow. Breathing out I ground and deepen. After my practice, my fingers and toes slightly tingle. Full of joy. My back settles into the ground. Heart stays slow and my breathing is deep. When I rise to sitting I can feel my head rise. Lightened. My palms almost seems to float upon my knees. Open to receiving. I bring my hands to heart center and open them out to the world. Giving and receiving. Breathing in and out. The Universe inhales and exhales with me. Tightens and releases. Grasps and let go. We all breathe as one. My heart, body and soul come together as one. Union. Yoga.
I long to have writing be my exhale. My release. My creation. But I am not sure it is. I don’t expect it to be all sunshine and ease. But writing feels like a chore. A battle. Constant struggle. I don’t feel lighter after doing it. I don’t feel as if I have released something or found out more about myself. I just want to get it done and get up! Sitting sucks. Sight. How many more words to go. 50?!
Reading the book Captivating. The third time I am reading it. I am doing videos on it each week to discuss what I have received from the book. I am captivating. You are captivating. Women are wonderful. Men are too. We need to understand this each and every moment.
Namaste-the light within me acknowledges and appreciates the light within you.