Jul 17

“Yoga begins with listening. When we listen, we create space for what really is.”

I encountered this phrase during downward facing dog in my first ever yoga class here in Bonn, Germany. Written in a surprisingly small font in a corner on the wall behind my mat, it struck a chord with me so loudly and clearly that my body insisted, this message is not to be overheard anymore. In instances like this, when I drop down – or being plunged – from my head into my heart, I realise how much I have been holding on, how much I am turning away from what actually IS.

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Whether it is the noise of a busy day, the sound of a movie in bed, the thinking through or chattering over things rather than allowing for the feelings evoked, there are many different ways of not listening. Quite functional and protective. Being with what is, is really hard for most of us. In those moments of pause, we encounter a whole lot of undercurrents which usually and at first feel very uncomfortable. A lot of them are related to the unknownness of situations, outcomes, and relationship dynamics.
 
With this kind of writing, I am not pledging for (premature and simply-seeming) acceptance, but rather want to share some thoughts on uncertainty, how it lies at the very core of our human being-ness, what it means to engage with the unknown, and how it relates to intimacy in the sense of ‘living life fully’. I probably cannot cover it all in one blog post, so I won’t even try but I use this space to plant the seed for more regular posts and offerings of online sessions, to meet again, to practice together and explore along those lines.
 

"The pain when being with what is or not (yet) is, and more so the turning callous, at times can cut me off from what is located in the premises of the unknown: Hope."

The capacity and willingness to listen, to truly listen, I think, links a lot to how much we are able to tolerate uncertainty. When we are asked or asking ourselves to step out from the well-trodden paths onto wobblier ground, we may easily jump to conclusions, relying on our (past and habitually-based) mindsets, foreclose on options, avoiding the creative space (or void?!) and – at the very core – fight/block the funny feeling in the stomach. And yet it needs – alongside a patient wait in which nature runs its course – that fluffy soil, the earth muddier as turned over, raked and stroked, to bear the promise of new life, growth and unfolding.

I had a lot of life changes in the last few years. Some of which I asked for, some of which I did not. The pain when being with what is or not (yet) is, and more so the turning callous, at times can cut me off from what is located in the premises of the unknown: hope. To hope means to allow for, be open to heartfelt wishes. “To hope is to gamble”, says Rebecca Solnit, as it is “to be on your futures, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous, it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk.” Similarly, Roberto Assagioli – the founder of Psychosynthesis – claims that “there is no certainty, there is only adventure”, and Mark Nepo reminds us that it is often our fear which misleads us to stay close to shore, when we actually “must swim out past the breakers if we are to know the hammock of the deep”.
 
It is the courageous endeavour of hoping as an act of engaging with uncertainty and co-creating life, I believe, that also puts us in touch with our vulnerability, indeed with the brokenness of our open hearts, and it is here where we cannot but listen. Still we can fine-tune the antennas, as it requires a lot of “Fingerspitzengefuehl” (attuned care) to receive and hold the messages from the more hidden parts of ourselves which are longing for opportunities to participate in life, yearning for expression and ultimately for love and being loved. When listening with the whole body, resting the mind in Rumi’s field of ideas beyond right and wrong, the pain we may feel through deep presence to what is, can transform into an encounter with the deeper meaning of suffering the unknown or questioning the emergent – and more often than not this brings the gentle joy with which life feels truly live-able.
 
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In the next blog posts I may share with you what and how the handless maiden fairy tale taught me on the intimate relationship with life/uncertainty, how choice is about being true, not right, and what this has to do with active surrender. For now I am hoping this post serves to fertilise the ground for re-connection, it has been ages since I was in touch… I am also hoping to see you for some online yoga and I will be in touch with dates and times.

 
With lots of Bonner summer love,
Jessi