I didn’t even realize how far from center I was until I tried to touch it – and couldn’t find the way.
She found me in the studio, sweating and breathing hard. I was forcing my body through a difficult sequence, just trying to “work it out.”
My eyes couldn’t focus on her as I burst into rapid breathless speech about the funeral later today, my overwhelming anxiety, and my “inability to shield.”
I told her I had “tried everything:” mudras, movement, chanting, restorative, reiki. I couldn’t seem to get myself together.
She told me, “you need to just sit.”
“I did an hour and a half of restorative yesterday,” I replied.
“That’s not sitting. That’s doing.
You need to sit.”
I was terrified, and she saw it all over me.
So she sat, with me, for a half hour (we timed it). My only instructions were to tell *anything* that came up, “I’m not interested. That’s not relevant.”
And it felt like torture, at first. I kept trying to focus on breath, or silently chant Om, or visualize my sacred place.
. . .
Somewhere along the way, my center found me. God. The Divine. Timeless, soundless, thoughtless, precious and beautiful nothing/everything.
And it felt so good.
Now that I remember the touch of that sacred, silent, center, I can return – and I will.
Because teaching is doing, too. And as much as I love it, I remember now that I need to just sit.