Not so long ago, I went to yoga in the midst of a stressful morning. Late, rushed, hectic, juggling.
The important thing is, I got there.
I crept in quietly, and gently unrolled my mat. My fellow students were on their backs, in the middle of some leg exercise I’d never done before. But in this particular class, I expect new and unfamiliar.
I lay down on my mat and followed along. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know why I was doing it.
I was there, moving my legs, looking at the ceiling, in yoga class, and that was all that mattered.
Suddenly everything from the morning melting away. Or rather, released. Wow. Why was it so easy?
Then it came to me: I love yoga, I love this practice, because I trust it. Implicitly. I’ll try nearly any pose, any chant, any breath, any exercise to see what happens.
And I believe that no matter what happens in the practice, I will learn something from it. I will be happy that I showed up.
I can come to my mat and go into mental and emotional freefall because I know I will be caught. I may go through the day feeling like nothing more than a bundle of atoms held together by the force of attraction, but I know that in yoga I can let go and I will not scatter. I trust.
I realized, as I moved in and out of poses, what a vital and necessary thing it is to have places of complete trust.
Tension releases. Hackles go down. Jaws unclench. Defenses, gone.
Trust allows release and unbounded creativity. To see and be seen, completely and clearly.
We need trust, as makers, in order to create our art.
Where do you find spaces of complete trust?