Pleasure Over Pressure Please

~Perfectly aligned words found first thing in the morning, from  Elena Brower and Erica Jago's Art of Attention Yoga Healing Cards  ~

~Perfectly aligned words found first thing in the morning, from Elena Brower and Erica Jago's Art of Attention Yoga Healing Cards ~

 

[Featured at teach.yoga, February 2017]

When I recently moved to Zürich, I put a lot of pressure on myself to make stuff happen fast. I put pressure on myself to be successful in every aspect of my life right now. I was trying to be superwoman. Simultaneously I was waking up with a headache most days. I  tried to work out the cause of theses headaches (eventually with such impatience that I was simply adding more pressure to the mix). Was it my diet? Was it my back? Was it not enough water? Was it too many beers with my porridge? Turns out it was non of the above. It was pressure.  As soon as I began to explore how I could move away from putting pressure on myself and as much as I could, exchange pressure for pleasure, said headaches went away! I have finally come to recognise these headaches for what they (normally) are; my body's signal that I have been stressed out and faraway from a place of grace and ease for an extended period of time. The following is about the journey towards this little gem of a discovery. Clever body. Must listen more.

 

Listen to your body more

And you will cry less.

 

Hear your heart

And truly decide.

 

Trust your tired eyes

And restup.

 

If you wake with an ache

Then don’t push.

 

But be soft,

As you move through your day.

 

If you are empty, 

Don’t presume that the answer is fill;

 

Is there something to learn

From this echoing sound?

 

Now back to those tears,

Impressively unexpected,

Or seemingly so.

 

They’re the build up of pressure,

An accumulation of yeses,

That should have been nos.

 

They’re the thunder, 

They’re the lighting,

That follows a brew.

 

They come with a guilt,

That somehow I’ve failed, 

To do the right thing.

 

They are banging and boiling,

They crave a quiet place.

 

They are nerves over heated,

They are decisions to make.

 

That I can’t,

Because my breathing’s in bits,

And my heart’s been left out.

 

They’re the child that is tugging

At my sleeve to be seen,

 

To be soothed,

To be hugged,

To be loved.

 

Because when I don’t hear

This ingrained knowledge within,

 

Then I’ve left home,

I’ve abandoned, 

all that is me.

 

These tears are my signal

That too far I have gone,

 

From the shoreline,

From the safe space,

 

Where my actions

Always answer,

The questions

 

What is needed?

What is right?

What is true?