Day 10: The Beauty of Our Scars


A lot is rising to the surface lately.

Old feelings, patterns, thoughts, are working their way up, up, up, from their various hiding places, to the surface of me, and I know that they are ready to go. Some require that I step into the past, review each detail of each moment, to make sure that I am not missing anything. And then, through my daily practice of movement and my daily practice of stillness, then and only then do they let go.

Then, and only then, can I let them go.

I had a beautiful day today.

Even peering up from midway down the rabbit hole, I can see the beauty in this day. I practiced with my yoga community, beside one of my dearest friends. I saw my teacher, who I haven’t seen for sometime, and who I realized the moment we were embracing how much I had missed her presence. I had my head held and my knots smoothed by the magic hands of my dearest kind and loving friend. I had tea with my love, a treasure, since these days we are passing ships in the night. We took our dog to the park that looks over the lake, and watched him run from tree to tree, searching for squirrels. He wrestled with his dog friends and chased sticks and balls and dug into the ground.

We love this—his joy at fresh air and wide open spaces.

I had delicious fresh food from my favorite restaurant, on my way to work at a place I consider to be my second home.

When I am not at home, or at the park, I am always here.

Or there.

I had conversations with friends and colleagues…heart opening conversations…and I saw the benefits of all kinds of yoga practiced by all kinds of people as they ducked into the dark night, faces glowing, snowflakes slowly drifting down past them.

Everything about this day was beautiful.

And under it all, I was, and am, very aware of the lotus within, struggling her way through the mud, the grime, ready soon to be released up into the light, to the warm embrace of the sun. She will blossom once she gets there, this I know.

Even from my positioning in my rabbit hole, balanced between the light and the dark of my being,  I am aware. I know the story of where I came from. I know the many selves I have been, and I am always learning about who I am today. I carry scars, both inside and out, that tell the stories of the many lives I have lived. In certain moments, the moments before it is time to set a memory free, I walk through the halls of my past, and trace the imprint that they have left on my soul.

At times, I can trap myself into seeing my scars as ugly; into seeing myself as ugly. I look at the beauty radiating from all around, from people all around, but something inside me will not let me see it in myself. I will not let me see beauty in me. I see only my faults, my mistakes, my failings. I dislike the person staring back at me. I pick a part her face, her body, her place in life. I despise her. I am disconnected from her and I want to get as far away from her as possible. Even my language has changed as I type, as I write about her. As I write about me.

My practice has taught me how to be in this place, to allow myself to feel the darkness, the struggle, the drop down the rabbit hole, instead of fighting.

I know it’s not me, I know that this is not who I am. My practice has made space for the stuff that I have held onto, that I have hidden away in my body, to surface, so that I can be set free. My practice helps keep me grounded, as I witness the uncomfortable dialogue, this cycle that goes deeper each time.

I know, my heart knows, the beauty that lies within.


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