Yesterday before class, one of the yoga teachers asked if I was still in puppy bliss. We talked about Gracie, groundedness and gratitude (trust me folks, that wasn't planned). About how a happy pup is a side door into presence and that I was amazed at how much I was enjoying it all.
Being that I'm a lifelong cynic.
She looked at me in shock. Apparently she thought of me as anything but.
Nope. I'm a cynic, a skeptic, a nay-sayer, a non-believer. I'm jaded, fearful, often stuck. Doubtful, afraid of letting go, getting hurt, of my dreams being dashed and my heart being broken.
And other times I feel glimmers of the magic and magnitude of the universe. Joy floods me. Colors brighten. Sounds are sweeter. I am so filled with love I am love. I can do be anything. I actually am everything already.
Most of the time I'm somewhere in between. Yearning for bliss but too afraid to sink into it. Too scared that once I taste it, it'll disappear forever. I grasp on tight to rationality, to explanations, to thinking, as if being will bring about my downfall.
Having said that there are things in my life that force me to let go. Coming to the mat. Having kids. Taking on projects bigger than I'd ever considered before. Rescuing a puppy. Trying meds when I couldn't cope anymore.
Living in the unknown. Letting go of control. Learning to trust that it will be ok, that it is ok, that all is the way it's supposed to be.
It's a daily struggle. Or joy. Depends which side I'm coming from.