So there I was, sitting one old cushion my grandma gave me, moving my arms around like a crazy lady. Kundalini yoga, they call it. Barney’s time, my dad renamed it, in honor of the magnificent purple dinosaur I befriended and religiously watched as a kid.
Between the two Tv shows, I don’t know which one is the most out there. I’d put a twenty on the former. People all in white wearing turbans singing songs they don’t even understand is pretty tough to beat.
They say it’s a technology. Except from the iPhones and computers they use to put on the music, I can’t explain how. Plus, yoga that doesn’t involve any downward dog: can you still call it yoga?
Except it works. It’s the best thing I’ve tried in a long time. If you give it a try, it will blow your mind. With arm gestures and breath of fire, chants and long meditations, I’m slowly healing old wounds and past trauma. Without a single word. Without having to talk about my shit. I just do the thing and the rest unfolds.
They say there is no time. By healing the present you are also healing the past and the future. Because there is no past nor future. They say you can heal generations before and after you. It’s crazy, but I’m buying it. Because they are not selling it (or at least it’s very affordable, a whole month membership for less than the cost of a class – a real deal).
With the practice I’m learning to sit still. And listen. And laugh. I don’t know if the turbans really work to keep that energy from escaping through the top of your head, but damn those people are not only super smart, they are also very funny.
So here I am, moving my arms to rebalance my aura, my chakras, the bujas and nimas and samskaras. I move and move and move, breathing heavily, reconfiguring my mental patterns, strengthening my nervous system. Then we stop. Finally. After fifteen minutes of circles and gestures. We inhale deeply and squeeze tightly all the muscles of the body, and mula bandha (of course). I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, I’m turning blue in the face, then we get to exhale. Only to inhale again and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, pelvic floor all up to my heart almost and face as blue as ever, than exhale again.
All this for that moment when we start to meditate. Hands still up in the sky, almost as high as our spirits, we calm the breath and get to work. Today, we chase our fantasies, our fears.
I’m now ready to face the beast. I feel strong enough to look at it right in the eye. What is there to be found deep down? What are the most scary things hidden underneath the bed of my diaphragm?
I take a breath and dare to dive. I explore all scenarios: me, by myself, all family members dead, working in a beige cubicle for the government at 60, fat and ugly as hell.
Chase your fantasies. Chase your fears, says Guru Jagat. I get back to work. I let it come to me. And I feel it. I feel it becoming stronger and stronger. It ain’t gray and dark, boring and sad. It’s quite the opposite. It’s full, light, orange tons all surrounding me. It’s so close to me.
It’s a baby.
What I am most afraid of is not some sort of ugly snakey beast, nor some dark, depressive emotional state. What I am most afraid of is this wonderful, cutest, vulnerable, precious being.
I’m afraid of being a mom.
Chase your fantasies. Chase your fears. Same same. I always knew I wanted to have kids. It always have been a certainty. I would never have thought in a million years it was also my deepest fear, what was preventing me from true healing. What I thought I desired the most, being a mom, is actually what’s been hiding in my shadow for so long.
I’ve always been afraid of being alone. I am not anymore. When you don’t live in the anxious state of always being surrounded by people, life has that sweet quality to it. The days are now yours to enjoy. You’re the one in control of your own happiness, not waiting for someone or something to show up. You get to make every moment as special as you want it to be.
Which leaves me to deal with the real issue at stake, the big stuff: the anxiety I feel whenever I’m with the people I care and love the most about.
I can’t hide anymore. I’m not anxious by myself. I can spend days enjoying my own company. I’m not living in that agitated mental state all the time. However, I still have trouble at family dinners, and friends gatherings. What’s wrong with me then?
These days, I’m realizing how much I struggle with love. I need to protect myself from too much emotion and deep intimacy in case it would eventually be withdrawal from me. Now that I know I can survive even without anyone by my side, that even when I’m alone I’m not wasting my time because I’m worth it, the true question is: how much love can I handle?
For now it doesn’t seem to be a lot. I can see how I’ve been closing myself in the past whenever love shows up, in every form and shape. I can give as much as I want to, but don’t dare give some of this precious juice back to me. I won’t take a single drop. If you’re part of my family or a close friend, I might open a bit, but if you are a potential lover, I will shut you off in the blink of an eye. I don’t want to get close to you because what if we connect, and what if we fall in love, and what if eventually two becomes three?
Deep down, this fear of becoming a mother is all about that. Completely losing control and being fully, deeply in love. This fear of surrendering to the light.
I get it now when Brené Brown says what we are the most scared of when we finally open our heart and get vulnerable is joy. Because when we love, when we’re happy, then we are at risk. When it’s gray and sad, there is nothing to lose. As Marianne Williamson says so beautifully, our deepest fear is our light. Our light is love. What I fear the most is love.
Once we get it then we’re almost healed. Because there is nothing to be afraid of. There never was. We can surrender to our fear. We can surrender to love. All we need to do is the work to learn to handle that superpower, let it penetrate our heart, so we can fully be integrated and whole again. A total full blast human experience.