More than a decade ago, during a rich and expansive time in
my life, I scored the chance to play with art materials after some extended
time of organic movement and dance. The result was this lady. She’s seen some
wear and tear and has been stuffed with the children’s artwork under a bed in
the attic. She is an image that came from a hearty desire to carry what I had
been experiencing in circles around altars with wise and courageous souls. I just
wanted there to be less discrepancy between what I was experiencing and my
natural state of being – communicating, holding space, opening – within the
circles, and the rest of my life. I wanted to carry the “altar within.”
It’s been so many years since then and many experiences,
many changes in path, many deepenings, dark nights, and heady days. Through to
this day, I circle up as often as I can. And I am still and always working to
erase the line between circle and every-thing-else.
Perhaps what’s been surprising for me in all this is that
the circle is still necessary and
that the blurring of line between circle and every-thing-else will never mean
the lack of a need for carving out kairos
– sacred time. The sulfur of the struck match, the stones, statues, fabrics,
and candlelight that mark this sacred center, that step outside of time will
always be necessary for me. The simple act of setting down the altar is enough
to once again wed the rocky world to its moorings. Just like the tree woman in
the picture, I need the deep grounding of the earth to reach ever higher, both
deepening and unfolding: a perfect marriage of masculine and feminine.
Nowadays, there are many more ways in which I can be called
away from center. We are a homeschool family: three kids, three cats and two
working parents. I am part of a community of homeschoolers, community of
friends, a work community, a church community and the culture of our home. Each
of the other family members has her or his own communities each is responsible
to as well. It becomes so easy for me to be scattered in a million ways:
pleasing every obligation and grasping at each opportunity. Instead, I ask
myself, how can I reach out from, instead
of reaching away from this rich,
sacred center?
I am really lucky, actually. Some of my communities – the
yoga circles that I teach, some church celebrations, and even some sacred play
with friends, all take place around the glowing flame of a center altar. Even
so, this summer I found myself in deep and troubling waters. The center seemed
far, even when I was in circle. The mess of my internal world seemed so jagged
and wretched that the altar was obscured by my own dark veil. I was in the
circle, I was even leading the circle most of the time, but I couldn’t access
the center. Sometimes, it was just too hard. The grief of losing refuge in a
place that has always been healing was agonizing.
Slowly, what I have realized (although it is still very much
a practice for me) is this: I have to
welcome myself into the circle. No matter if I am a participant (I forgot: I
always am!) or facilitating. I want to welcome in all of me, in the way in
which I would welcome in any dark, suffering bits of my students, in the way
that I would hold the sweet aching hearts of my children in hard times. I want
to welcome myself just that way. And so, maybe the line blurs the other way and
a bit of every-thing-else begins to flow towards the altar.
And so, the practice continues. I think I will light a
little candle right now. Because I’m welcome. Right now. Just as I am.
Namaste,
Amy
Namaste,
Amy
