PhotoCredit: SweetDreams
Every morning I make our bed. I leave the bedroom with the deep satisfaction that I have done one thing well for the day. My perfectionist tendencies are satiated by pillows neatly placed and the duvet smoothed down. All is well with the world.
For a moment anyway. Winston has opposing tendencies. In a fierce battle of wills, he is determined to prove that dogs do belong on furniture. I return to my bedroom to find a neat 50-pound puppy sized indent in the duvet. Invariably accompanied by a toy, carefully placed like a calling card. Puppy waz here.
When our beloved Rugby died earlier this year I found my clean floors impossible to enjoy. There was no satisfaction in a tidy house without a permanent supply of fur. I am now constantly irritated by my messy floors and it makes my heart so happy. I secretly love finding the indent in the duvet each morning. It’s officially a game and, unofficially, a ritual.
These are signs of life. It’s a good thing that my world doesn’t stay neat and perfect. Neat and perfect, I realize, are signs of absence, death and decay. Our messy and chaotic existence is vibrant and full of possibility and potential - even though it’s largely inconvenient.
As we remain trapped by a pandemic, we start to feel trapped by everything else. The pandemic shines a spotlight on all the suboptimal in our existence. Superficial and real. The messed up bed and the messed up politics. You can choose which of those is superficial. It actually doesn't matter much, there is a difference but also - there is not. It all manifests as frustration which builds and wears on us. And builds and wears on us. Like a rock that has been beaten down by years of crashing waves. After all the days of 2020, we wear thin. We seek fairness and justice and we long for travel and hugs and a sense of whatever ‘normal’ was.
Inconvenient feels like the polite thing to say.
In yoga we often do a counter-pose after a challenging sequence. More than a rest, counter-poses are active practices that bring ease to the body (and the mind). They are designed to restore balance. A place of calm in an intense practice. Space to assimilate what our teacher is trying to show us. What she wants us to learn.
A great teacher knows that these moments are critical. Without them we have just wear and tear.
We need moments that allow us to see the good alongside the destruction. To appreciate the stubbornness of the puppy and to be thankful for the fur on the floor. Muscles - and minds - need time to rebuild. We need to do the counter-poses. Even if just for a moment.