Supta Baddha Konasana

One year ago this month I took my first yoga class. Today, in the supta baddha konasana pose--one of my favorites in which the body is reclined with the soles of the feet touching and the knees splayed to opposite sides of the mat--my knees are six inches closer to the floor than they were a year ago. My hips have opened up, as have my shoulders. My flexibility, balance, and muscle tone have improved. Sometimes when Julie says, "One more breath here," I don’t suddenly remember to breathe; I have been breathing. At a time of life when bodies begin to shrink, I am ¾ of an inch taller than I have ever been--I attribute it to better posture, and better self-regard; both gifts of yoga. Perhaps this will be the year my always-tight hamstrings will loosen. And this week I learned that the English name for the supta baddha konasana position is "The Goddess." And that is all I will say about that.

I am opening up.

The other day I went out to check on my three volunteer cantaloupes, the ones growing far from their roots that do not seem to be maturing, but for whose growth I remain hopeful. I lifted the first one, and discovered it was cracked open, exposing its inner flesh and seeds. I lifted the second one and it collapsed in my hand. It was nothing but the shell. The third one is still intact. As I sat with my three cantaloupes, I thought about my fears of cracking open. I have spent the past five years becoming strong within myself. I have learned to live, and to love living, in relative solitude. I have explored who I have been and how I got there; who I want to be and how to get there; and, most importantly, I have learned to love who I am today. Now, as I explore tiptoeing out into the world again, and being open to new relationships, I am looking fear in the face. What am I afraid of?

The cantaloupes provided a clue. Am I afraid that if I open up myself to outside forces, all that I love about my life and who I am in it will come slithering out onto the ground? Perhaps to be trampled under foot by someone who may not appreciate me as much as I do? Am I afraid I will become an empty shell, or discover I was empty all along--exposed for a fraud? Do I fear that I will go right back into my enneagram nine tendencies and compromise myself away? Or, will I discover that I can let someone else in and still be true to myself; just as they let me in and stay true to the best that they are? We cannot ever just sit back and rest in who we are. The mature cantaloupe is worthless if it isn't at last cracked open and shared. A whole, tender, flavorful cantaloupe thrown onto the compost intact is no different from the cracked open one or the empty shell.

In my last post I said that I didn't know who read my blog. There is a comment at the end of the post, left by a woman in my beloved Pacific Northwest. She found my blog when she googled something that happened to be one of my label words. Email conversations have followed this past week. We discover that we have led, in some regards, parallel lives. I have enjoyed reading her blog. Friends can be found far from the root. My sister also left a comment, referring to my reference to something she had said a few years ago that hurt me, but that I had never been able to talk to her about. (We learned from the cradle in our family to avoid conflict.) In the last 24 hours we have begun to talk about it. Of course, I heard only the words of her original comment, and made it into a whole piece of chick-lit fiction, when actually it was a book of philosophy of which I had missed the point.

Just as I discovered that through the wonders of the internet all kinds of relationships can be found far from our roots, I am learning to accept that beauty in the garden can be found in other people's gardens. I can try to grow it in mine, but sometimes it is not to be a part of my garden. We need others to be whole. Two of the plants I planted that have not bloomed are alium and passion flower. I thank the One who is More that just as people are diverse, so are gardens. It would be a dull world otherwise.  


Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of the attacks on the United States in the name of Islam. A "Christian" "minister" threatened all week to burn the Qur'an on the anniversary because "it is what God wants." (Fortunately his fifteen minutes of fame were achieved without having to carry through his threat to destroy that which is sacred to a body of people.) Yesterday my church hosted a gathering of Christians, Muslims, and Jews for readings of the Qur'an and for expressions of love for one another, even in our diversity--or because of it. We came together to crack open. I had intended to go for thirty minutes of the two hour service. Afterall, I needed to get an oil change and get my dirty car washed and vacuumed. As a young blond boy, dressed in a brocade robe and thick yellow socks, sang sections of the Qur'an in Arabic, I remained in my seat, weeping. I did not know the words he was singing, and it didn't matter. The strength of his love for his God--our God--rose out of his heart and soul with a passion beyond my understanding. For two hours I did not cross and uncross my legs; I did not shift in my seat. I did not move other than occasionally wiping the tears from my cheeks. One of the speakers, a Muslim, said that "on September 11, 2001, nineteen men hijacked the Islam faith." On September 11, 2010, a Florida minister hijacked the Christian faith. That he didn't do the deed doesn't matter. He professed to speak for all Christians in the name of God; no different from those attempting to speak for all Muslims by doing cowardly deeds in the name of Allah. I cracked open yesterday. Cracked open in the name of the One who is More, no matter what that name is.

E.B. White wrote, "Creative writing is communication through revelation--it is the self escaping into the open." And so I write. I write to crack open. Supta baddha konasana. We are made in the image of the Goddess--one name for the One who is More--it is our calling and our responsibility to open up and let ourselves out.