Grounding in the Elements Part 2: Water, My Reflection

I had never really been alone.  I grew up in a family of ten people, a few dogs and cats, horses to care for and plenty of friends that at any given time were escaping some kind of teenage hell at their own home.  Life growing up was loud.  Even on eight acres, space was limited.  The kitchen table with ten Reeses and a few stray friends was always a bit chaotic. Noisy. Busy. My normal.  My early childhood conditioning allowed me to feel comfortable and safe as long as I was extremely busy and distracted.   It was natural for me to get lost in the shuffle of life.

In Greece Barbara and I did a lot of reminiscing about our time in New York together as young dancers and how drastically our lives shifted once we found Yoga and meditation.  Our dusty memories started to bubble up as we spent hours on the beach sleeping, talking, and swimming.

When people ask me what New York was like I find myself talking about how it was so loud that I finally woke up.  I began a new life and uncovered myself.  Between dance class and rehearsals I dove into Yoga and spent four hours a day in the studio listening to my breath, and the other students' breath.  Throughout my entire life noise seemed quiet, and the quiet felt unnerving, my racing mind and taxed body was afraid to stop. I didn't know how to stop. My time in the Yoga studio slowed this relentless pace inside of me. I began to crave the sound of Ujjiyi breathing, the energy of a Yoga classroom, the gentle sound of my teachers voice. I began to feel sensitive, that is, I could feel my own nervous system respond to my external environment.

Outside the Yoga classroom was the insanity and beauty of New York.  As a dancer, the pace of my life was fast.  My auditory sense was constantly overwhelmed by the nonstop life of the city. Intitialy New York's pace soothed me and held me in a constant state of peaceful anxiety.  It was all I knew, it was safe, it was like home.  Although the city provided unlimited growth both intellectually and artistically, eventually my body had had enough tight spaces and fast paced schedules.  As my Yoga practice grew I slowly began to crave balance in my schedule.  I wanted to sleep more.  I wanted to meditate and read in my room.  I craved healthy foods. I started to love silence.  This began to freak me out.  I moved to New York to create art, to never sleep and never feel tired.  How was this happening? Each day that I practiced on my mat my physical constitution went through a shift.  My mind body started to come down from twenty five years of crazy. Noisy no longer felt quiet, and the quiet began to sooth my nervous system.  I felt a bit like I was free falling.  At times it was so liberating and at other times it was terrifying trying to  recalibrate normal.

Sitting on the beach of Megali Petra off of Kefalonia, Greece, I began to reflect and looked into a depth that is new to me.  Eight years after New York City I find myself still detoxing from daily chaos and the noise I didn't even notice before.  Beyond the listening and unpeeling that unraveled my nervous system in New York City I can safely say that this unveiling, this space I feel here on this island is so vast.  My mind feels like a canyon and anxiety has tried several times to creep in because I have nothing to do but rest, eat, sleep, meditate, practice. I have sat quietly for many days now.  No teaching, no phone, no boyfriend, no Mom. My life preservers are in California.

The translucent minty blue water surrounded me. The sea was like nothing I had ever seen or heard.  Its limpid waters lapped rhythmically on the hot sand over and over.  As I sat and looked out at the water I could feel another layer of craziness lift.  My anxiety fades. I feel exposed.  I feel.