I've been thinking a lot about tunnels. Yes, those tunnels: in one end and out the other.
They seem to have a mystical quality to them, don't they? You enter through one end. The light within varies. (If you've ever been through a newer tunnel, you understand. These sorts of tunnels are so well-lit the mystery - and fun - is gone.) You never know exactly how long it's going to take you. If you hold your breath, will you run out of air before exiting through the other side? There's a certain delight when you return to the sunlight and the moment you are able to breathe again.
Funnily enough, tunnels are a lot like life.
There's a situation, a problem needing a solution. A catalyst. A moment you are jump-started to action.
You enter the tunnel. You face the problem, seek the solution. You begin to accept where you are and why you are there. You search for ways to solve the problem. You have choices. (You always have a choice, even when the possibilities seem few.)
At some point, after enough time has passed, enough tears have been shed, and enough work has been done, you leave the tunnel. You are reminded (once again) that things are not as bad as they seem.
Patience.
You never know how long you'll be under the mountain, slowly making your way through, but the reason you're there is always the same. You are there to learn how to let go of situations you can't control and cultivate the situations you can. You are there to be patient.
I am not good at being patient. I am not good at just being. I am so often focused on the doing: laundry, dishes, cooking - pressured by the unbearable guilt of why haven't I written anything today? - quilting, reading to my kids, ignoring Projects A and B and C (all the way to Z), and so much more. There's always something to do.
I used to do yoga twice a week, back before COVID, when I went to the gym regularly. I loved the community, the teachers. I loved the way it made me feel strong and present and purposeful. I was not doing yoga there. I was being.
I'd forgotten that feeling until a few days ago when everyone was still asleep (a rare occurrence in my house as everyone is an early riser). I dusted off my mat, found a video on YouTube. By the end of my practice, I was in Shavasana, my body cool and hot at the same time, tears flowing down my cheeks. So this was what it was like to BE!
I don't want to lose that feeling again, but I don't know how to find the space to keep practicing. How can I kick everyone out of the house when they have no where to go? How early must I wake up to find a house full of peace? How can I possibly BE when there's so much to DO?
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