A little Tuesday night yoga lesson. The book club had some drama in Pinetop (more later...) and I was worrying about it while lying on my mat in the dark. Then Yogi Mary read this poem.
Can I Let you Happen to Me?
Can I sink into the moment with you, drop my defenses, park my pattering mental process and allow myself to be with you and with myself for that matter.
Can I sit next to your ideas, your feelings, your ranting and raving, your excitement, your boredom, your creativity, your disgust, your enthusiasm, your despair, your gratitude, your resentment, your laughter, your grace, your embrace...can I sit next to any of that, or all of that, like I would sit next to a good friend on a park bench?
Can I adjust to the season? Let the ice melt inside me, thaw and float down river as the sun sets? Can I mop my brow in the heat of the moment, without complaint, accepting that sometimes it's hot and it's not anyone's fault? Can I, will I allow you to happen to me?
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