Sitting at my desk, late afternoon (almost to the witching hour, but not quite) writing an email... or maybe it's facebooking, not quite sure.. a faint buzzing, a feeling of warmth and pressure on my arm. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly out of the glaze of computer screen eyes it comes into focus.
My 4 year old daughter by my side: "Mommy, I'm here." Barely any response from me, maybe it's a grunt. "Oh, Mommy, it's Me." A turning and looking into her eyes. "Hi Sweetie" And a turning back away. Just finishing up. She exits.
And returns holding the stuffed seal that was mine from about her age until when she took it over. "Mommy, look who it is; It's your favorite." Another turn. And finally a closed laptop. It took the big gun to get me to actually pay attention. I seriously hope this is not her only memory of me from her childhood -- the back of my head with a glowing screen just beyond it.
She's standing by my side saying: "It's Me" (the most amazing wonderful creature that ever walked the Earth, she could add) And I'm zoned into something else.
Our bodies do the same thing for us every single day. They give us little tiny moments of saying: "Hello. It's me. I'm Here." They tell us "I'm needing a little stretch, or a snack, or to use the bathroom. Hey, I could use some rest" They're pretty remarkable in how they give us those tiny little inklings. I think though, a lot of times those tiny impulses are completely lost on me as I dive into what "has to happen" and the "requirements of my day" or of motherhood.
And then our bodies do just what my daughter so brilliantly did today: they up the anty. Usually the tactic becomes PAIN. The less than kind indicator that we could be paying closer attention. Physical pain is, in general in my opinion, an indication that something just isn't quite right. That we could honestly offer just a little bit more focus to the real, truth-filled needs of our bodies.
And so in the practice of Hatha Yoga, HeartFirst Yoga, as I like to describe what I'm teaching now, we can offer our bodies a moment of deeper listening. An authentic honoring of the knowledge living there. We can slow down, or speed up. We can rest or hold the pose. We can skip class or go to class based not on the day of the week but on the impulse in our blood.
You always have a choice of where to put your attention. I know my body will never guide me in the wrong direction.