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.
And so it is.
Something between a poem and a short story.