Passing Time...

I have neglected this blog sorely as of late, which speaks to a neglect of my soul, my self. Writing is my passion and when it falls by the wayside of life, a part of me falls there with it.

The spiritual piece of me has been moderately nourished with the concentration of yoga and yogic studies in my life. I'm practicing on a daily basis--the physical asanas and the practice of mindfulness. Meditation/quiet reflection time is something I usually incorporate into my asana practice--if I sit, I get distracted. I think of bills, the kids outside the room I sit in, the dog, "has she been walked?", dinner plans, "do I have any celery in the crisper?", money, "can I afford to buy that business?" and whatever else comes up in the silence. I need to work on this.

Breath creates space. I read this in "YinSights", a text on Yin Yoga that I'm reading. When I breathe, it certainly creates space, space that is immediately filled with thought.

The physical piece of me is nourished as well through my asana practice and my mental stimulation from the study, so what of my writing? What side of me is that?

It is my heart center. The center of me where passion lives, barely a simmer. And passion is quiet, unobtrusive--she waits her turn. Sometimes, she musters the strength to stand her ground after a lifetime of neglect and oversight and she stares into the eyes of her beholder, who, upon sensing her presence, has a quiet epiphany--a revelation too late in it's revealing. There is no more time and there is a realization of what could have been...if only.

I don't want to have to face her that way, I want for a better connection between myself and passion. I want to heed her presence, to hear her soft whisper and turn when she taps on the shoulder.

As a mother, my life is dictated by taps on my shoulder, calls for my attention, templates for my time.

As a person with an inalienable right to life and all of its living, I have to remind myself of me from time to time. There is obligation there too. More than obligation. It is inherent, it is necessity, it is akin to breathing and a beating heart.

Passion and I sustain one another and the force of that connection and preservation means that we can also be our greatest force of opposition, that which can hinder or even annihilate the other.

I don't want to finally notice her when I have little life left to live. I can't imagine the pain of knowing that I was ultimately my greatest barrier to all that I could've been, all that I could've done.