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Journal

Embodied Rituals for Skin + Soul

Filtering by Tag: soulcrafting

Shadow-walking: An exercise in trust

Katie Gordon

I've been writing again. In part because I love it (and sometimes hate it) and in part because I've realized when I give voice to the shadows within, I also give voice to the light. Words are the most fundamental way I expose myself. Which is, of course, why it often feels terrifying. But my jaw has been aching. Dark, earthy, serpentine Lilith has been feeling snarly and demanding to be heard. So I sat down this morning, and this is what came out...

Photo credit unknown

Photo credit unknown

Cracking open is beautiful and painful. I've been doing my best to be with and witness it all. To really examine my triggers and emotions from a heart-centered, soft place because that is the only way I know of to reclaim disowned pieces of my Self. To see my critical thoughts as simply that: thoughts. Not identities. Not truths. More as questions. To see my shadows as just another aspect of my human experience. Not something to fix or heal or change. But to sit with and listen to.

And what is it to really sit with my shadows rather than avoid, fight, argue with, condemn, change, or ignore them? What does it feel like in my body? Because I know intimately what it feels like to ignore them. Even to tell them to fuck off. It feels like deep, seething anger. Like tension in my neck, jaw, and the back of my heart. It feels like bone-deep hurt. 

But inviting them in? It feels like a soft wave of grief that comes in, floods my being, and then subsides. Like the tide. It feels like tender vulnerability, those moments that hurt until I can share it and share my darkness out loud with someone and hear them tell me they love me FOR that darkness and not in spite of it. 

Roberto Ferri

Roberto Ferri

A dear friend, soul sister and fellow wild mystic articulated a truth to me. That we can't make ourselves heal or be ready to heal or force things to come up to be healed when we want them to. They come when they have space. Often spontaneously. Unexpected. We can tell those shadows and ourselves all we want that we're ready and willing to do the work. But I really see more and more that it's not up to us (our egos). It comes when our soul is ready. When we've actually done the ground work, the gritty hard stuff. When we've prepared the earth of our bodies and hearts, and the soil of our psyche is fertile for the healing and opening to occur. Our minds don't get to decide. 

And so I've just been sitting with the questions. The feelings. The fear of, "after I've sat with and felt it, then what?" The unknown. The thing most of us are afraid of. That we won't know what to do next or how to clear what comes up when we ask the questions. One word keeps coming up over and over again when I ask the questions. 

Trust.

Trust that the healing happens when we ARE open. Trust that the words and answers come when they're needed and when they're ready. Trust that it's not all for nothing. Trust that our bodies and hearts DO heal. That our highest expression of humanness and soulful embodiment in this earth body is as a healed, whole person. Trust that if I keep digging deeper, uncovering more and more of my own wounds and allowing them to be exposed and held and loved that I'll eventually reach my answers and that I won't just keep uncovering hurts, but that I'll uncover treasures and light and divine grace within. 

This trust is guiding me in reclaiming my shadows, those beautifully hidden and rejected parts of me. Those parts I see mirrored in those around me. The most challenging relationships and the deepest emotional triggers. The sensations that flash for just a moment before I used to shove them back down. What would it be like to let them be seen for just a moment longer? And then another moment? And another? My breath tethering me to this world while I explore my own inner Underworld? It feels like a cracking open. As if all the armor, all of the scars are breaking apart and falling away and I'm being revealed.

Evolving yoga & the bodysoul

Katie Gordon

A friend and I were walking and talking the other day about how, as teachers, both our yoga practice and the way we approach teaching has evolved. I came to yoga during college after leaving ballet. I had struggled with bulimia and anorexia for years, but even more than that, I felt mentally, emotionally, and physically rigid. I was stuck in this foreign body that I had numbed and quieted for so long, I no longer knew how to hear the voice of my soul or feel my physical body enough to even know when something was wrong. So I stumbled/dragged myself into a yoga studio around the corner from my apartment in Boston's Back Bay, started teaching awhile later, and discovered a world I saw as completely opposite from my rigid, extreme, self-loathing reality. And unlike the pain and exhaustion of ballet, I had found something that made me feel literally high afterward. Plus it's healthy (both physically and mentally), it's great exercise (they don't call it a yoga butt for nothing), and I felt good about myself as a person, justified in my somewhat-self-righteous approach to the yoga-raw food-vegan-sattvic-clean-eating lifestyle because I'm doing something "of value" and teaching people how to feel better, right? Now I see all I had done was carry that same rigidity, the same self-imposed rules into a new setting.

And then I got disillusioned with the whole thing. I got bored. I got injured. I wasn't down with paying $100 for a pair of yoga pants. I got tired of feeling burnt out after teaching SO much and struggling to pay my bills. Seriously, if you want to be a "successful" yoga teacher (and they're out there!) you gotta hustle. You gotta have passion. And I didn't. My body hurt, I could barely make rent, I didn't even have the time or energy or desire to maintain my own practice. So I said f*ck this.

I gave up trying to survive by teaching and I got a "real job." You know the whole work 9-5, wear "professional" clothes, get a paycheck every 2 weeks, have health insurance, work in an office kinda job. This was that stage in my practice when I was so happy to NOT stress out about money/survival/my-family-thinks-I'm-a-total-failure that you'll do anything for this new job. And don't get me wrong, the company I worked for is GREAT! They treat their employees better than any I've seen. The people there are wonderful. But my connection to my wild soul was fading. And my physical body was like, "How can you possibly have a job where you're sitting at a computer all day??!! Have I taught you nothing??"

During this time my practice taught me to slow down. Because of injuries, I couldn't do everything I used to be able to do. I had to be super mindful, take my time, and listen to my body in a way I never have. I felt like because I no longer had to depend on yoga to make a living, I could make it all about me. What I needed, wanted, craved in terms of movement. How my bodysoul needed to manifest herself. And through that work, it became increasingly clear that, even though I was comfortable & happy enough, I wasn't living my full truth or my soul's purpose in the world.

So when the opportunity arrived, I left. I moved to the Pacific Northwest, where I'd wanted to live since I was a kid (after watching The Goonies. Because pirate caves.) and where I could focus solely on my little business. And since Wild Grace is an extension of me, it became VERY clear that to have an abundant business, I needed to cultivate a healthier mind-body-soul connection. For me, even though I hated to admit it for awhile, the way in to that connection was through my yoga practice. It forced me to sit, breathe, be, and listen. It showed me how to deeply honor my body when I was practicing honestly and from a place of love for myself.

As I was preparing to teach a demo class in my new home town, I realized my yoga practice and what it meant to me had changed because my relationship with my body had changed. Because of the way I used to practice, always pushing myself, forcing myself further into poses, to keep going even if practicing didn't feel good or if I was hurt, my body had finally had enough and my practice HAD to change.

You're probably thinking, "Well, duh!" But really, I could finally see clearly how the way I felt in my body, the way I surrendered to my body, the way I saw it, felt it, heard it. The way I allowed it space. The way I honored the open spaces and the tense, closed, traumatized spaces had shifted in each stage of both my ego & soul growth. And because of that I was finally allowing my body to evolve rather than stay within a "safe" range of weight and shape. I was allowing my soul to expand, to be her brilliant & bright self. Where there was once a major disconnect between my soul's desire for compassion and self-love and my mind's need for some semblance of control, now there's just (for the most part) quiet, space, and a deep honoring of the way it sometimes all has to play out so that we can actually learn how to get out of our own way and meaningfully make something of ourselves.

And so I guess when you can finally let go of your opinion of the yoga industry, your fear of not being "good enough," the constant need to compare yourself as a teacher and student, and the competition for classes, all that's left is your relationship to your body (physical and energetic) and the practice of showing up each day to be with yourself.