I’ve decided to forego the introduction to Thirty Days of Forgiveness and cut to the chase for the rest of the practice. If you just got here you can check out the explanation on my Oct. 27th post.
What must die?
The dream that yoga would be the conduit through which I could become a healer. Can I just tell you how much it sucks that I was wrong about that? I really wanted that to be true. I believed it was true. I invested in that belief, financially and emotionally, only to find out that it can’t be true. It just can’t. And right now I really hate that.
If to forgive is to love, am I ready to love?
I’ve been trying not to write about this since before the first of November. I’m angry at yoga for failing me, which of course, yoga didn’t. I’m angry at other yogis who wouldn’t let me do this, which of course, isn’t their fault. I’m angry at a community that wouldn’t support this, which of course, it couldn’t. I’m pissed off that after pouring my heart and soul (and all my money–like, all of it!) into it I’m left with nothing more than I had when I started–a mat and a personal practice. How is that fair? No ministry. No fulfillment. No epic love-light-peace-journey story of hearts and bodies healed. Namaste, motherfuckers. I was all in. All the way. I believed. I leapt in faith. I levied it all. For nothing but a huge credit card bill and a very public failure that no one understands. Love this? (Guttural growl.) (Followed by a dejected sigh.) Yeah. I guess I have to if I’m ever going to be anything other than angry.
What pain must I face?
Yoga is not yoga class. It’s just not. That’s not yoga. This shit is yoga. And people do not pay for this shit. Which is why I was never going to make a living at it, make a ministry of it, or keep students past their infatuation with the physical practice. People will come for yoga class but they won’t come for yoga. People will pay to pose and breathe and stretch and have someone else do all the thinking for them. People will pay to unplug and rest and renew. They will pay for clothes and gear and props. They do not pay to be turned inside out so that they have access to their wounds and the work it takes to heal them. And I feel stupid for thinking that all I had to do was get people on the mat and the rest would just magically happen.
Can I own this publicly?