It actually becomes me, from me, to me. Sorta like a dancers pole, anchored into the floor and ceiling ( but it’s the earth and sky ) so it’s steady, no matter what.
I’m holding and holding and holding on to this pole thru out my days and moments and life and sometimes I’m in this prayerful pose and the pole is me, coming from me, deep within me. That’s when I’m centered and present and peaceful and connected. other times, I feel like I’m horizontal, being blown to shreds by the winds of life – my crazy mind, emotions, drama.
But I’m still holding on.
I don’t let go– I sometimes shift hands and strain and hardly survive, but I hold on. I use all my tools and practice, practice, practice and eventually, the wind calms and I’m brought back into alignment and the strength of the pole comes deep within me again.
This seems to happen, over and over and over.
Centered, strong, violent and tormented, centered, strong, violent, tormented. Rinse and repeat.
Meditation, the practice, seems to strengthen the pole– or better yet, my grip of it…. like almost every time I sit it’s like I add a layer of muscle to hold on to that pole.
It’s stronger these days– practicing non stop it feels like , on and off the cushion. I’m grateful for this image as I think for so long I believed the wind, the torment, meant I was failing, that I wasn’t trying or believing or being enough. Now I’m realizing, the torment and the strength are both just the nature of things. They cycle thru me and the day and this life and that’s just what is.
The awareness lessens the storms and strengthens my grip to the pole for sure– and I’m gonna keep strengthening– but, the truth is I’m gonna be in torment sometimes too and so I observe and feel it now, recognize it, almost embrace it as a sacred part of the experience, the journey and that I’m alive and ok and better than ok, even in the despair.
As it turns out, Practice doesn’t ever make perfect. Ever. It just makes more practice… which is all I need.