Issue #3 - Renewal
“Every day is a renewal, every morning the daily miracle.”
Gertrude Stein
Perhaps you’ve had it too; perhaps you’ve noticed the morning light creeping increasingly in to your home like a bashful cat.
Little strips of light flickering on the wall that, for the last few months, has stood in complete darkness; wearing a cloak of stillness. Once fully draped and now is being teased as the light lifts it. Sure to be fully removed in time.
It reminds me of the insignificance of myself and my dramas, and that time moves on. That the seasons will change and the mornings come, whether I want it or not.
Quotes like the one above, though they are true, can sometimes be a challenge to fully agree with, and I’ll tell you why I think this.
Currently, I seem to wake up to feelings of gratitude and dread. Anxiety shoots through me like a charge of electricity as soon as I open my eyes and my heart canters in my chest. I appreciate that it’s mostly hormonal, because perimenopause is here. Also, we all have our crosses to bear, and so I have mine.
But, and it really is a huge ‘but’, thank goodness for conscious breathing and continuously working on acceptance. I know things would feel far worse without them.
So, while I absolutely believe that each and every morning that I wake up is a ‘miracle’. A gift. Unrepeatable. Precious. Sometimes, I find facing myself and lifting my spirits to be wearing—in that it seems to demand a huge effort.
There are days where, and if I could, I would, (and in fact there are times when I do), pull the covers over and hide. Perhaps I’ll go back to sleep, perhaps not. But I’ll definitely just breathe and allow whatever happens next to occur. There’s a sense of pausing. Finding space while still being cocooned. Gathering strength. With the freedom to decide when to emerge—even if only for a few more minutes.
On the flipside, though, I wake up and appreciate my life and my two little reasons to get up. Not to mention the presence of the anchor that graces my side. My health and a warm home, two more invaluable reasons to smile.
It’s amazing how caught-up we can become in the unnecessary concerns that blight these modern times. Equally, it’s astounding how little we know about our bodies and the life phases that we, as a society, have shamed and silenced.
We have so much comfort and unbelievable amounts of good fortune, and yet our heads (and our bodies) are full of worries, and we’re more unwell, medicated, and in-debt than we’ve ever been. Completely disconnected from ourselves and nature. We’ve replaced stalking predators with ruthless landlords and mortgage lenders, and, as a society, we’ve dream walked (and continue to dream walk) in to untold environmental, political and economical problems—continuously kicking the cans down the road.
Is it denial or self-preservation? Sometimes I am not too sure.
It reminds me of the scene in Titanic when the band are playing amongst the chaos of a sinking ship, as a way to distract from the realities at play.
So, it’s no wonder we prefer to keep busy. It means that we don’t need to think.
As many of today’s great thinkers suggest, our tolerance of discomfort is so unbelievably low and we’ve all bought-in to the idea that life ‘should’ be a series of endless parties and carousel rides, and we’ll do anything to avoid being vulnerable.
It’s preferable to continue distracting ourselves and to just keep on shopping, exercising, working, scrolling, binge-watching, drinking, eating… and never, EVER, stopping.
I’m not bashing what I hate here. I swear! And, yes, I am fully aware of how our capitalist society operates—and how I benefit from it—and believe me, I’ve done, and do, some of these things myself. I guess I just can’t really anymore. Well, not ‘properly’ anyway. By that I mean mindlessly.
My numbing and distracting, in the end, didn’t work and I had to stop. I was forced to stop. And as anyone will tell you, once you stop, there’s no going back. Not really. Ignorance can be bliss in so many ways. Although, now, I’d argue that consciousness is the only blissful way forward. Because things always have a way of catching up with us, sooner or later, and so, though the more mindful way may be hard, in the long-run, it’s easier, on ourselves and on others.
What amazes me about life, though, is that, as well as the sense of, sometimes, wishing to hide our heads in the sand, there’s also a sense in us, isn’t there, that encourages us to get up and get on.
And this is what Issue #3 is really about.
We know what’s right and we want to do the right thing.
We dream.
We envisage.
We wish to accomplish.
To overcome.
There’s just something in us that moves us to do so.
I think it’s incredible that life, although it can and will be overwhelming at times, provides us with a force that is always pushing forward. There’s a natural urge and inclination in us, to greater or lesser degrees, to stand tall and face whatever it is we have to face. Whether that be subtle or dramatically stressful, as they say: ‘You’ve survived all of your hardest days to get to where you are now,’ and that’s something to be acknowledged.
Thomas Merton described it perfectly when he wrote:
“There is in us an instinct for newness, for renewal, for a liberation of creative power. We seek to awaken in ourselves a force which really changes our lives from within.”
It’s like the snake and its skin, isn’t it? Shedding the old for the new.
Life is a constant reinvention. It’s a continuous process, and, as always, we can find these reminders of this essential law in the natural world.
February is often associated with snowdrops. I love them and now is the best time (if you’re in the U.K.) to visit someplace where you can see them. Usually, somewhere like your local National Trust will have a display of snowdrops.
Why do I like snowdrops?
Well, to put it simply, they are brave. They are the first flowers to mark this transition towards spring. But it’s still pretty cold and relatively dark compared to later in the season. So there’s a sense of courage about them, and also acceptance. They make me think of the hardship they have to face in order to bloom, and there’s a trust in the life force that moves them to grow. Mark Nepo put this idea beautifully when he wrote: “All buried seeds crack open in the dark the instant they surrender to a process they can’t see.”
If only we could remember this!
That the dark is where renewal is born, and that we need to ‘crack open’ in order for our new shoots to grow. That there are many mysteries occurring around us and within us, and that a sense of ‘surrender’ to this life force is what carries everything, with or without our effort. We can resist it or go with it. It’s happening either way.
Still on the topic of snowdrops, I came across a cute video animation of Hans Christian Anderson’s The Snowdrop, which explains the little flower’s magnificence far better than I ever could.
Following on from this but still on the same thread, this week it was Imbolc — an event on the ancient Celtic calendar which marks the stirrings of new life that are occurring.
Energetically, it is still a time of earthing and rooting, but there is a definite call towards movement. It is when we can begin to acknowledge the dreams that we have cradled throughout the winter, noticing the urge to bring them to fruition.
So, the snowdrops are very much a reminder of the life force that is awakening in us, and that we too may have to feel brave and courageous, while also allowing things to unfurl as they wish.
You may find it useful, as I do, to journal on the following questions:
What stirrings of new life are being revealed to me right now?
How does this feel?
What do I need to let go of in order to make room for these stirrings?
It is entirely natural if this feels difficult. If there’s a sense of wanting to step out into the light one minute and then an urge to retreat the next.
Remembering that we need the dark as well as the light is a key that I try to hold on to. All that we are and everything that we do is a continuous play of these two forces.
We say that flowers return every spring, but that is a lie. It is true that the world is renewed. It is also true that renewal comes at a price, for even if the flower grows from an ancient vine, the flowers of spring are themselves new to the world, untried and untested. The flower that wilted last year is gone. Petals once fallen are fallen forever. Flowers do not return in the spring, rather they are replaced. It is in this difference between returned and replaced that the price of renewal is paid. And as it is for spring flowers, so it is for us.” Daniel Abraham
Relating this to our practice, we’d all do well to remember that one aspect of yoga is to shine a light in to our dark places, and to bring what is there out in to the open.
Nope. This isn’t easy stuff. But, holding a pose and finding our breath in it has a lot to do with withstanding the challenges in life. Just as we do in our practice. For me and for so many others, yoga is a practice of acceptance, and it builds resilience. In that sense, it goes well beyond just being a form of ‘self-care’.
It’s a lifeline, and, without it, I’d no doubt be doing all those distracting (and destructive) things a hell of a lot more. Things that I simply can no longer afford to do.
Yes, you could say that I’ve just replaced one coping mechanism with another. And, no, one method isn’t necessarily superior. After all, and as The Beatles sang: Whatever gets you through the night, it’s alright! One’s got to do what one’s got to do. There’s no judgement here.
But yoga grants as the space to be more aware of our coping mechanisms and the repercussions of having them. Teaching us, reminding us, of the fact that everything we do, everything we say, and everything we think, has consequences.
It’s the Butterfly Effect.
So, yoga is about developing the witness. The same can be said about meditation, mindfulness and many other practices.
In our practice(s), we are, essentially, allowing the sensations to be there. Without getting swept away or caught up in them. They don’t inherently mean anything. They are just there.
So, some days I feel like hiding in my bed. And that’s okay. I don’t need to push it away or wish that it was any different. I have my reasons for feeling like hiding. Some are sensical, and some perhaps are non-sensical. I also have my reasons to get up. The point is, I am so much more than these feelings. They will come and they will go.
When I am up, I am soon laughing with my children, and then my attention is captivated by something they do or say on the way to school. Equally, these high feelings do not last. Perhaps something happens, one of them falls over, and so I do my best to attend to them. Then, I may flit between feeling pangs of confidence and inadequacy after the day’s many social interactions. Fleeting, but they are there.
Perhaps, later in the day, I will feel inspired as I work. Finding flow. Experiencing elation. A sense of oneness with it all. And there’s usually a deep peace that occurs when I practice yoga and meditation.
There is room in the day, also, for doubt, irritation, anger, and sadness. I know I will feel grief for the times that have passed, hope and trepidation for the future, and a sense of helplessness for the many things that are simply beyond my control.
Then I will likely feel contentment and gratitude when I tuck my children into bed. My heart full but precariously dancing above the thin line of overwhelming love and fear. Something that the social researcher Brene Brown calls “foreboding joy”.
Then, perhaps, frustration when my eldest wants to get up and out of bed for the umpteenth time.
Then tiredness, for sure. Then sleep. Hopefully it’s deep and restoring. But, as a parent, there are never any guarantees.
And then, if I am lucky, I will do it all again the next day. And so on and so on.
This is life! This is the journey. This is the continuous renewal, moment to moment, in which we all evolve and live our lives. And it is a miracle!
We can drag our heels and be fearful of what’s to come. There is room for however we feel and yoga allows for it all to be there. But, if we can lift our heads and if we can move our weary bones, just enough, and if we can remember that there is no light without shade, then we can and we will step forward.
Now, let’s all take a full and expansive breath in… and a long, cleansing breath out.
I think I will leave it there for today. I know it’s been a deep one. I have a tendency to swim around in deep waters, so thank you for joining me.
I hope this issue leaves you able to reflect on your own shadows with a sense of realism and acceptance, and I hope, especially if life is a little heavy, that you feel less alone.
To be alive really is a miracle, and I hope that you are are able to find comfort in the example of the snowdrop, and that you know that your practice offers you the strength to be in any places that you’d rather not be.
“Transitions are a part of life, allowing for perpetual renewal. When you experience the end of one chapter, allow yourself to feel the emotions of loss and rebirth. A bud gives way to a new flower, which surrenders to the fruit, which gives rise to a seed, which yields a new sprout. Even as you ride the roller coaster, embrace the centred internal reference of the ever present witness.” David Simon
So, until next time…
With love, and peace, and endless kindness,
Louisa xx
The Renewal journal pages will be published in a fortnight’s time, and next week I shall have a breathing practice audio for everybody, plus a lot more, delivered straight to your inbox.