I want to talk about love.
Over some years ago, I wrote a lot on various journals about how I get emotionally attached to everything… I cling. Big time. To my son, to my friends, to my dog, to books, to movies, to clothes, to events… and while it may seem like this sweet thing to possess as a character… just like all sweet things, too much sweets, and you end up with a tooth decay.
This yogini decayed.
Up until a few months ago, I cannot, for the yogilife in me, understand why I need to step back from clinging. And as each day comes, in words and gestures and signs I’ve been too oblivious, unaware, unmindful to see for what seemed like ages, that I may as well be in a state of coma… manifestations and realizations are now piling on me – neither feeling heavy or easy; but quite lifting.
I had been someone lacking of love – its meaning, its significance, its purpose. To me then, I love because you need to love me back. I laugh now at the mere thought of that. I am appalled at myself for being incapable to grasp unconditional love. How can a yogi lacking of love be able to truly love, to even practice yoga… when in the beginning I am incomplete to give any? All I could do is to take love, to fill myself with the lack. Like collecting seeds in a jar. I collected and I collected and I collected. And I drained the other person. And the other person. And the other person. I blame any other person for not meeting my needs, my sustenance. There existed no space between us, only you and me. It sounded so romantic! So precious! So engaging! So cuddly perfect!
What do you think happens every single time?
Without the space, the seeds did not grow. We, the other person, my relationships, simply ceased growing.
As it turns out, with any relationship that exists this way – lover, friends, children, work, health, beliefs or faith – it began to fall apart, to decay. The seeds began to wither. Whilst kept in a jar.
I am now planting new seeds. I shelved away the jar. I’ll be patient with the planting. Or at least, I am really trying to – with the aches and soreness that go along with it, with being soiled and messy that comes with it. But even when planting seeds do not come effortlessly and flawlessly, there is a certain sense of calm that stays with you. Regardless of the missteps. Regardless of falling on your face on the ground. Regardless of the annoying splinter on your finger. Regardless of creepy crawling creatures in the soil. Perhaps views have changed. Perhaps it is the intention now that makes the big difference. Perhaps the heart is tilled and cultivated.
Each seed planted fills my heart within. It cannot come from anywhere else but from me. And when they grow and transform, I shall be in full bloom… then I’ll send you flowers.
I am not much of a green thumb, but perhaps you are. Perhaps you’re not. Perhaps we’ll learn together… venture… experiment… evolve and transform the seeds… into a something… something wonderfully amazing… so new seeds keep spreading, creating this beautiful garden within us…
I’ll be here, extending my hand, digging my sparkly toes in, as you plant your own seeds.