I’m hanging out between appointments at a place called Turtle Bread in South Minneapolis. There’s gluten everywhere, long and short loaves, rolls, seeded and unseeded, baguettes, something really decadent with carmelized onions on top, pies, cakes, some with neon frosting, a promise of a pizza. It might be heaven, but the 8 degree temperature outside belies my preconceived notion; shivering while inside, I’m reminded of opposites.
I order a whole milk cappuccino, extra hot and choose a seat at a long table, settling in to an hours worth of studying time while I wait for my lunch date. To my right two political consultants hash over their strategy for the upcoming Minnesota caucuses. One eye on my Ipad, I listen, hoping to hear a Bernie or a Hillary, instead, Trump ensnares. Oppositional movement at play, again.
Sometimes life gets complicated for me when I take it off the mat. I can jive jubilantly with breath and movement while demonstrating downward facing dog on my sticky, forgiving Jade. Eager to yoke to my boisterous Spirit, I invite openings that feel easeful, free and full of unbelievable promise: Handstand, you got it; Bound ardha chandrasana with a wall assist, no problem; Bird of Paradise, watch me now! I move limitlessly through asana after asana after asana, reaching savasana with a satisfied smile; I believe I am complete.
And yet really, I know better. Physical expression of complicated postures is not the yoga that I live. True yoking of mind body and spirit are manifested in the moment, both on and off the mat as an expression of karuna (compassion) connected to a grace that knows no karmic definition, and requires only a genuine wholeheartedness to truly manifest. Loosely translated, it is my own ability to lean into my own resistant places that will ultimately free me from my own pain that has the most powerful resonance.
Sighing, I surrender, and order the spinach florentine salmon eggs Benedict.
Danielle graciously treats!