Wounds I Forgotten About

Yoga Bliss


My parents divorced at the beginning of my kindergarten year. It was somewhere around the time we were being introduced to Mister B of the Letter People.

Beautiful buttons.

And years later, right around my 10th birthday (I think), my dad married a woman who took me aside privately and told me on their wedding day that things were going to change--that I had no place in their family--that my father would be adopting her daughter and one daughter is all that they needed.

A hellish year later--poof!--my dad vanished from my life and I never saw him again till I was 25 years old. One long visit is all I needed to make amends with years of pain. And my life changed drastically from that moment on.

Same year I was sitting in a train station in Rome for Milan when I wrote a letter to my old self--the troubled girl who carried the burden of his abandonment for so many years--I wrote a letter to her saying goodbye--adios--ciao--and I left it under a bench in a dirty old train station in Rome, Italy.

And somewhere between Mister B Beautiful Buttons and my father walking down the wedding aisle--he gave me a paperback book on yoga. It was the size of those trashy romance novels--and it was packed full of black and white photos of women and men in leotards doing silly poses. He told me to study it--and sometimes at night before I would go to bed I would twist and turn myself into the shapes in those pages.

Lion. Tree. Warrior. Fish. Bridge.

Yoga Bliss


Ten years later since my visit to Rome--this past Friday night, I went to my very first Kirtan concert with Jai Uttal. There was probably fifty people barefoot, sitting cross legged on the studio floor when Jai walked in the room. Immediately I could see his radiance--I could feel joy emanating from his pores. He embodied Bhakti--great love--devotion.

My favorite part of his singing is when he would burst into a guttural moan that seemed to spin around the globe picking up particles of pain, suffering, joy, and bliss before it made it's way to my ears. I could feel it seep into my own skin and begin to pulsate to the center of my mind.

Honestly, I had no idea what to expect when I arrived that night.

I've done Kirtan before--but never for two hours straight. And never with such a large group or a grammy award winner.

It took me a little while to surrender. To finally close my eyes, go inward, and give myself over to the flow of the sanskrit and the magic of the melody. I finally let go. I finally felt it.

Free and joyous.

And the strangest thing happened.

I saw myself in sepia tone dancing in a temple. And as I saw myself--I was that self--and I completely let go of my present reality of sitting barefoot, cross legged on the studio floor in Phoenix, Arizona.

I started to dance wildly in that temple. Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. Until I found myself--and saw myself dancing down the street of my childhood home. I made my way into my sepia tone childhood kitchen and danced on the dinner table as my mother, stepfather, brother, and my childhood self ate together--I danced my way down the hall to my childhood bedroom where my little body laid crying in bed. I danced on top of her--my feet moving wildly--over her toes, across her torso, and like a mad tap dancer all over her head. And I made my way out the window and into the sepia tone street again. All the way across Ohio till I found myself in the front yard of my father's home.

And I danced. And I danced. And I danced.

I danced around his house and I danced on top of his roof. I danced my way through a window and danced up and down his stairs. I saw my father laying there in bed looking ill and I danced on top of him like I did to my childhood self.

I danced so hard that laughter poured out of me like rain. And I danced in his room until it became full of sepia tone flowers and I opened my eyes to silence.

To a beautiful pause at the end of a chant.

To sitting barefoot, cross legged, in a sea of yogis, in a studio in Phoenix, Arizona.

To a life I created.

To a life I now dance in,
around,
between crevices,
on the roof of my dreams,
through the window of my deep expanding heart.

I went to a Jai Uttal concert on Friday night.
And I left there--
Healed
From wounds I forgotten about.

19 comments:

Tracie said...

Dancing with you now.....beautiful Connie!

Jennifer said...

My heart breaks for that little girl that you were, but it sings for the beautiful, creative, loving being that you are now!
Keep dancing...

Grammy said...

I am so so so happy for you. : )
I will have to learn to dance in my thoughts too. Thank you for such beautiful healing inspiration. Big hug.

rachel whetzel said...

Pure Poetry... I could see you in my mind...

faerian said...

BEAUTIFUl healing. Beautiful forgiveness.

Lisa said...

I am in tears. Good tears, but tears. To the sepia dancer within you and all of us...Namaste.

Jen said...

Tears, Love, Understanding
I so wish we lived closer. Until we meet here's a BIG HUG!

Ellie said...

Beautiful post!

Tracy Carlton said...

your sharing this healing, heals me. thank you.

(the little 'word verification prompt? ~ blessedp)

that says it right there.

Lis said...

My teacher once said he did not believe one could truly experience Self Realization without singing and dancing ...

Jai Bhagwani ✺

xo Lis

Michelle said...

Wow, wow, wow!!!! This is amazing and beautiful and powerful. What a gift you experienced! Thank you so much for sharing it with us!!!

KS said...

Powerful post. I feel inspired by you to peel away layers. Thank you Connie. See you at YP!

Deborah Weber said...

What a profoundly beautiful post! I celebrate your healing and your beauty!

Inner Artist said...

What a truly beautiful post and what amazing talent you have for fearlessly expressing your innermost self in your writing and art, and what some of us out here are feeling also. I serendipitously arrived at your blog one day and have never been able to leave because you are just such an inspirational young woman (I'm probably twice your age). Connie, I honour you for following your heart and for the fearless, loving person, poet and artist that you are. As I'm not a poet myself, go here to read a beautiful poem by an Australian poet which expresses what I'd like to say to you after reading your post: http://pool.abc.net.au/media/i-honour-you

jodie said...

speechless.

laurie said...

i am the step mother of a beautiful thirteen year old girl. it is not always easy for either of us but i cannot imagine life without her. thanks for reminding me to tell her that. Krishna Das is coming to arizona in june and i am determined to go. let me know if you want to ride together!

gypsy said...

Sounds like you were in some super serious state of flow, baby!

motherdana said...

What a blessed experience!
You have a wonderful way of using words to paint the picture. You are truly a wordsmith :)
Thank you for sharing, it is a great gift that you have shared. I never tire of gentle reminders of what I can accomplish if only I allow myself.

Peace and love always,
Dana

Anonymous said...

That was so vivid and so relatable. Thank you! Thank you! THANK YOU!
Polly Ann

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