What a ride it is, this life lived in a woman’s body.
The moment we think we have found a shelf
to rest on, a sort of “aha, so this is how it works”,
we are again thrown into new territory.
Once we think that we have finally worked through,
healed, those old wounds,
another scab is brutally ripped off exposing
once again our undefended heart.
As Yoginis, feminine spiritual practitioners, we learn to breathe and open through it all.
Even when every inch of you wants to run the other way,
when the pain seems too deep to bear,
even when the the jungle of entanglement seems way to thick.
Even when you fail,
when you find yourself crawling knee-deep in rancid stories,
even when you betray yourself, again.
Your being keeps opening through it all.
Your holy being unfurls like a flower,
through the unbearable,
through the longing,
through the doubt,
through the silence,
through the fear,
through the stunning simplicity of each breath.
Your roots cease to cling to mirages of certainty,
instead they draw their nectar from deep within the movement of life,
from within the magnificent pulse of Shakti.
Image from Ashesandsnow.org