I’ve been practicing yoga for a few weeks and my focus has remained on mechanics. Well, to be more accurate: I’m just trying to keep up with the class and not injure myself.
Today was different. Not in the struggle to keep up with new poses, but in my intention. I noticed that the attendance card box was labelled “M-Z”. The instructors have been very kind to me and up to this point had been pulling my card for me, I hadn’t paid attention to the box.
My late wife’s name was Mary Zerbey. There’s more in those initials than the reminder of our life together or her yoga mat under my arm.
She was Mary Fisher for almost 37 years, Mary Zerbey for less than 11. I have learned that the Mary I know is unique. She only exists in my mind and the people who knew her for all of her 47 years don’t have the same person in their minds. It’s a peculiar revelation of grief, of how we exist differently in individual minds. My love for her is mine alone, as is my love for anyone.
I got to my mat with an odd intention, to release the love I had attached to people in my life and to bring it back into myself. A totally new idea for me. Up to now I’ve been sharing as much love as I can stand while simultaneously seeking it internally. Specifically, I focused on a recent love that was no longer serving my independent, forward movement.
Class was thoroughly challenging and I had no space to consciously reflect on my intention.
We stretched out for shavasana, or corpse pose, to close our practice and images from my dreams appeared. I watched an ancient planet, the source of powerful dream stories since childhood, fall towards a new landscape I had been wandering for weeks, searching for meaning. The collision destroyed both worlds, killing millions on the old planet and shattering the barren wilderness under my feet.
I went to tears under the cool towel over my eyes.
The old quest to find love in the world is over. I’m ready to find it in myself.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason