This morning I taught class. The same class I’ve been teaching for years and years and years. I adore this class. Mostly I adore the women who attend. They have been with me and yoga and the treehouse and their practice for many years. Sometimes they line up in a row. Sometimes they are quiet. Other times they fill the space with laughter and chatter.
This morning somewhere between sharing words by Pema Chodron on how gloriousness and wretchedness need each other and namaste-ing, I felt a strong call to get back here.
Back to the place where my heart find the words and the words find this page.
Back to the place of telling stories and struggles and triumphs.
Back to the place of sharing my processes, what I’m learning and how I’m loving.
The last few years have been filled with highs and lows. So much joy and unbelievable sadness. I’ve come undone and been put back together piece by piece. It feels like I’m coming through to the other side of the tunnel. This tunnel of motherhood, of new identities, of loss and love and grief.
Dear lord, I have so much to say. I can’t keep waiting for the time or the energy to spill the words. They just need to come, however fractured and fragmented they may be.
Blogging (which has always felt more like journaling) has always felt like a dear, close friend of mine.
And I miss Her.
My heart longs for the words. I want to capture the essence of my moments, of my days, of my life in all of their messy and glorious imperfection.
And I know that this messy proclamation, this true heartfelt desire that makes her presence be known and felt, is most certainly a big, bold and beautiful first step.
Toddle on, dear One.