Rooting into MySelf
Nearly one year ago, I blessed my energy centers and experienced the most blissful rising I have ever felt in my life. Exactly one week later, I awoke to the words God Neuron. Exactly one week after that I dreamt of an eagle and awoke to the word Vishnu. Two days later, it was Ra Ma I awoke to on the same day a mysterious set of mala beads arrived. I haven’t heard that voice since.
Call me crazy….
This morning, I find my little self telling me I should be doing the homework from my yoga training that the teacher has assigned. Big Self is in the bathtub—soaking up the epsom salts, candle lit, with intentions so divine.
The new moon is right on time.
In class last Friday on root chakra night, held within a sea of red t-shirts and rooting into myself like a seedling extending my first growth, I cracked open yet again—down into the fertile soil of Self—splitting the exterior shell that has kept me bound.
How many times? How many seeds will I find?
“Oh my Vishnu,” I caught myself exclaim—observing the oddity of the expression I had never before heard myself say.
On Saturday, with blooming lotus, the Preserver arrived in the form of his seventh avatar, Rama, along with his faithful Hanuman by his side—inviting reason and right action along for the ride.
Restoring balance to my world, saving me from my self and returning Self to my sight—transforming destiny, unlocking what shall be this time.
Held by the circle of our tribe, I listened intently to Hanuman’s story and his leap across the divide. I wondered briefly if he, too, had tight hamstrings and hip flexors before aspiring to open so wide—rooting down into the depths of his enormous possibilities.
As Krishna Das chanted his melody, an ocean welled up from within and dripped down my face, one salty drop at a time. I sat there absorbed in my possibilities, letting each tear wash away the insecurities I tried so hard to hide—each syllable reducing doubts into the puddle gathering in my collar, at my throat, before releasing and descending—waiting for my perfectly imperfect Hanumanasana—and my leap into the unknown.
