The Joyful Place of Grief

Today my yoga teacher talked about being in mother mode as she delivered bolsters and blocks and blankets to students already on their mats.  “My mom is always offering to serve me.  ‘Let me do your laundry.  I need to wash a load anyway.'”   As I remembered doing laundry for my  mother, too ill to do mine for me, I felt grief come out from behind its curtain: the sadness that is beyond sadness.    I sensed her, could smell her house and feel the drag on the accordion door in front of the washer.  It felt like I stopped in to visit after too long of an absence.   It felt good to hold that sadness, to remember.   I then celebrated with deep breaths she could never take and with the movement of the body she manifested for me.

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