Returning to the Earth
Updated: Jun 13
Dear friends, dear yogis,
This time last week I knew I had to stop. 10 weeks of lockdown, Zoom teaching & my tired attempts at home-schooling and family harmony had left me pretty drained physically & emotionally. I also knew that I needed to make space to take-in what was happening in our world following the brutal death of George Floyd, the uprising of rage & grief and the awakening (again) to the devastating injustice in black lives. Although this week hasn't been a holiday by any means, it has been good to take a pause in teaching and have one less thing to think about and plan for. Thank you for this. I have had moments to process what has been a mammoth change in our family life over the past few months due to Covid19 and also had moments to consider how I might begin to understand racial injustice better and systemic white privilege better. I already sense this will be a lifelong path of investigation which will take courage, support and love. I am so deeply grateful for the many sharings, videos & articles I have read so far on social media and also a white awareness meditation group which I was able to attend on Zoom. As always my mat has been giving me a place to find refuge when it all gets a bit too much, a quiet corner of the house to call my own. Poetry has also been a continuing presence and keeps my heart open to what is possible. Maya Angelou's deep and soulful rallying cry "Still I Rise" reminds me of hope in the midst of great adversity. Ross Gay's poem "Sorrow Is Not My Name" reminds me that even in the darkest moments there is beauty and joy. And "Remember" by Joy Hario helps me find the ground again, that deep remembering that we are all children of the Earth.
I will look forward to seeing you on the mat again next week and leave you with Joy Hario's beautiful words...
"Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
In deepest gratitude, Orla