I am an early bird but this morning was a particularly early start for me at four in the morning. Generally I would feel upset with myself, try to go back to sleep without success, and fight the frustration at my body’s eagerness to get up by being as productive as possible. Day in and day out I try to multitask in everything I do…according to my husband, multitasking is not a thing to be proud of since you can never do one thing and perform your best. But hey, I am a mother and I think that’s just what we mothers do in our survival mode.
Unlike my usual frustration at waking up at ungodly hours, I woke up full of excitement and with a blissful heart. I was inspired by the amazing weekend I just had filled with yoga from my friend Mia Hamza. I soak up yoga like a sponge that can never be full. It nourishes my soul and my eagerness to become and do better. It’s also my cure for insanity …the one thing that sets me free from the craziness of being a mom, the fear of getting older, and of trying to be perfect all the time.
Sometimes you have that a-ha moment that changes things deep in the core of who we are. I had a breakthrough moment listening to the poem “The Invitation” recited during Savasana in our last yoga practice. Those words woke me up to inspiration. For the longest time I’ve been feeling pressured to use every waking hour to produce something, get the house clean, or check things off my to-do list. I have obviously been missing the point by sweating the small stuff. This poem brings me back to the heart of my happy living; it triggers my desire to live fuller, create, and love more. It encourages me to give myself permission to just enjoy the air around my skin and not feel guilty about taking time to smell the flowers. I woke up with a heart that lets inspiration take charge of how I live my life and I am letting it take the wheel. Let these words touch your heart!
By Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.