The Vulnerability of the Heart

It is precious. Like the careful holding of a fresh, hand-blown, very thin glass bubble. Warm and soothing. You hold it tight yet, very gentle at the same time. It is perfect because it is yours. Touching the glass, you can feel your blood pulsate through your fingertips. The grip is steady. Holding it up to your eyes, it seems almost like you are able to look through a blurry, transparent slide of life.

You know if you’d push more, if you cling to it, the glass bubble will break into hundreds of little pieces. There is only so much and so long you can hold on to (it).

And then when the heart breaks, all you’re left with is the utter gutted beauty of the rawness. The sharp edges of the broken glass bubble. The bubble that is no more. The roundness has become edgy. Splintered. The glass shattered. What once held warmth and light has disappeared. The bubble vanished into air & space. Leaving tiny pieces behind, in your hands. If you look closely you will see that the lines of your palms are trying to hold onto some of the sparkle. The shimmering beauty of it all.

Oh the vulnerability!
The suffering and the pain.
Apparent in shambles. Right in front of you.

Buddha once said; “All things appear and disappear because of the concurrence of causes and conditions. Nothing ever exists entirely alone; everything is in relation to everything else.”

So the work begins; you find yourself at the start. Breathing in and out. Not sure where to begin, as you are mesmerized by feeling the sheer pain inside, yet looking at pieces of life on the outside. You hear your breath within, like when your immersed under water trying to numb out the noise. The patching back together of the heart after the break and the letting go is as precious as the vulnerability of it. The glass pieces don’t fit together anymore. No matter how hard you try. There are too many. Lines. Pieces. Years.

As it so happens, you’ll find the same vulnerability right after coming back to your mat; with an injury. You can feel the shadow of your pain. It is lingering in very deep corners of your tissues. The injury has left a mark, it’s imprinted deep within, or perhaps even visible on your body. You know it is there. The heart knows. Even the breath knows. You are more gentle. It’s the beginning. A new path line.

With an extra layer of caution, of kindness. You have Love.

There is nothing else left to do than to carefully re-educate and re-evaluate your movement. Practice.
One step at a time. Patience.
Peace.

And so it is.
The Heart.

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Something between a poem and a short story. 

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My Photography Project

A couple of weeks ago a private client I’ve been working with for the past year asked me what else I like to do, apart from yoga? I smiled and thought about it.

Let’s see; yoga is what supports my life. It’s my work. It’s how I support myself and pay for my living. It’s hard work. It’s beautiful work. It’s the only work I can truly identify with.

Do I have a hobby? I asked myself. Is my work my life? Or is it my life’s work? I was thinking, then I replied; yes I do. I like to take photographs.

I went home and pondered on over this question. I talked about it with my soulmate well into the morning light and we ended up at svādhyāya. The inquiry to the self. It has taught me that everything is connected. The limbs of yoga, of union.

So when I teach yoga in a group and prepare a sequence; I create forms in movement. The forms transition into shapes. When I wake up in the morning I invite my breath to dance with my spirit. The prana flows with me on the mat. My practice. Pranayama. When I sit in stillness I become more aware. I am. When I write my feelings onto pages I practice letting go and yet at the same time I give birth to thoughts. Inspiration.

And so it is… that through my photography my eyes see. They meditate on one focus, one moment in time. It is not a mere expression, nor a projection. Perhaps it is an illusion? There is no reaction other than feeling. A feeling in the present moment — to see. Dristhti. Pratyahara. Dharana.

It goes without saying that to produce art one has to create art.
Make Love. Always.

 

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I’ve been working with an experienced art critic and a gallerist  to sell limited prints. This one is the first of 5 | Title: “Ísland Loft” | 60x60cm | 490.- chf.
I am moving out of my comfort zone. One step at a time — more news soon

To support my photography project email: yoga@hanumanshala.ch 

The Middle Path – A Poem

When it all comes together the middle forms a path in between ruthless nature. We worry about how things will turn out — when the pieces match long before they fall (apart) and come together (right) in front of you — in a perfect way.

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This picture is taken from a video. I was riding down from Schatzalp into Davos at the end of March 2018.