What I judge in you
is something unowned in me,
stepping forward to be loved and seen.
Sometimes awakening can be heavy
as we struggle for air,
suffocating under burdens
that were never ours to carry
but which we’ve held on to for so long
we think they are us.
Set down the burdens of the past, my friend,
the ways you try to prove that you’re right,
the ways you attempt to defend your position
and end up alienating the world…
The world doesn’t need us to be right.
The world doesn’t need us to be better.
The world just needs us to be…
Being held hostage for so long
makes freedom scary when it comes,
and I curse my tormentor
for finding another captive to ensnare.
I curse her, his new prey,
for allowing herself to be captivated by his charms.
I suppose I should instead feel sorry for her,
walking right into his trap as she has.
I suppose I should only feel compassion
as I look at their one year “anniversary” photo,
glasses of champagne on the table,
looking so pleased with themselves.
It’s only a matter of time
before he does to her
what he did to me.
And I’m free.
Why does freedom feel so scary?
Because everything I see
is a projection of my mind
I cannot separate my judgments of you
from my self.
What I see in you
must also be in me…
Otherwise, how could I know
what it is I’m seeing?
To see goodness in you
it must be alive in me,
to see a flaw in you,
that too must exist in me.
I want peace.
I want harmony.
I must begin my work
where these qualities exist–
inside of my own mind.
If I ever start criticizing you,
just hold a mirror up in front of my face.
Maybe I’ll remember
that it’s not you I’m criticizing
As I love you with all my heart,
let me look into the mirror of your eyes.
Maybe I’ll remember
that it’s not you I’m loving,
And as I deepen my understanding
I’ll remember that the labels
I and you
are convenient simplifications
of the reality we share.
I’ll remember that there are no distinct lines
between us and there aren’t
two separate selves.
There is one self,
through many beings all at once.
I listened to a student express frustration today.
He said he hadn’t improved in his yoga practice
as much as he should’ve since he began
two and a half years ago.
Who decides what adequate improvement is?
Who tells us whether or not we are good enough?
What are the stories we tell ourselves
to keep us from becoming lovers with this moment?
If we could drop our stories for just a second,
we might behold our own magnificence
and experience the ecstasy of being
Now imagine what would happen
if we could drop our stories for two seconds.