“Now, let go… and find your stillness,” the yoga instructor said as my fellow yoga practitioners and I settled into pigeon pose - a pose that provides a perfect challenge for all of us with exceptionally tight hips.
And just as the room offered a collective exhale in search of new levels of stillness, a car began honking outside the studio.
Since the studio itself is located in a very traffic-heavy area, this is not entirely uncommon for these classes. What was uncommon, however, was how this person seemed intent upon ensuring that every ounce of their attitude and anger get conveyed through the on-going barrage of honks.
The call for stillness paired with the immediate and constant sound of the horn was too thick.
The class immediately began giggling.
While I did not let out a laugh, I definitely smiled… and then began writing a Substack piece in my mind because that’s the near-automatic reaction that I have when some kind of unique moment lingers with me.
The piece began like this:
How often life is not about finding stillness by escaping to remote areas with poor connectivity, but rather it’s about finding the gift of stillness amid the chaos, the crazy, the constant horns.
And, when you think about it, I continued in my eventual piece, laughter is - ironically - one of the better ways to enter into a kind of stillness amid the crazy.
My thoughts were interrupted when the instructor spoke up: “We’re going to move into our final pose - savasana.”
If you’ve done yoga, you know this is the beloved pose where you lay on your back, close your eyes, and in complete stillness you receive the gift of your practice. “Corpse pose,” it’s also called.
I closed my eyes and attempted to quiet the many thoughts suddenly clamoring in my head… when another interruption arrived.
This one was a far cry from the car horn. It was the quiet waft of lavender.
Our instructor had placed a few drops of lavender oil on her palm and was now going around to each class participant and allowing us to receive the scent upon a gentle inhale or two.
Immediately, I recalled how my mom had once been a rep for an essential oils company, and the lavender-scented oil was her favorite one to gift us.
“It’s peaceful. And it can help you sleep,” she used to remind us.
Upon my second full inhale of the oil, two tears released almost instantaneously - one from the corner of each eye. I then let them slide down onto the mat below, leaving a wet residue across my cheeks, and a warmth in my body.
I’ve learned over the years that grief comes in many forms, and one of those forms arrives via the kind of longing remembrance that nevertheless feels grounding, good, and welcome.
Even with the tears.
Especially with the tears, actually.
Indeed, the lavender-inspired tears were not disrupting my savasana, they were actually calling my errant thoughts back into the moment. Back into the knowledge of having been deeply loved. And straight into the fullness of a scent that honestly now feels increasingly like a mission.
Bring peace.
—
What helps you find stillness?
No, not absolute quietude in every way and place, but an inner kind of…
Anchoring.
Grounding.
Rootedness.
To my mind, the instructor said it best: “Now, let go… and find your stillness.”
Letting go is where the magic happens.
Letting go of how…
it’s supposed to go
it should look
it should’ve gone.
Letting go of how…
fast the to-do list gets done
slow everything is going
impossible it is to control everything
to keep up with all of the demands.
Letting go.
And then stretching forward from that newly-grounded space.
Because moving forward is always essential. It’s just that some movements are better than others, and the very best forward movement is always born of deep-rooted stillness. Root-to-rise as they say in yoga, no?
And to my mind, there are few ways that better help us let go into that rooted stillness than these:
Laughter.
And Grief.
Both invite a release that goes deeper than words.
Both love to invite tears to the party.
Both frequently occur in the presence of (or because of) others.
Which is to say, if you are looking to stretch forward from a place of deep grounding, anchoring, and rootedness (re: stillness), try this:
Set a time and place for coffee.
Or lunch.
Or a hike.
Or…
See if the connection does not prove to bring about a new sense of stillness.
And who knows?
One day many years later the sounds and scents from those moments of connection may arrive in yet another moment…
…and gift a new stillness for a new day.