My fingers on my right hand softly find the stitches still fresh above my hairline and my face contorts in pain. I glance at the mirror next to me. That obnoxious black eye is a reminder of why those 7 days had passed in a blur. The blood bursts in my eyes make me look like I haven't slept in God knows how long. Well, if it weren't for the sleeping pills, I don't think I would have slept at all. Anyway, forget about it. This is my time.
An album I randomly stumbled across in Asheville, NC, a year and a half ago, Putumayo Presents Yoga, quietly plays through the speaker. Devaki by Karnamrita Dasi has a way of opening up my heart when it's closed. In sequence with her A Cappella introduction, my bare feet slowly step to the front of the mat. I close my eyes, pull a deep breath into my lungs and reach my arms outward from my sides and above my head until my palms meet, melting into one another. I exhale, bringing my hands down to the center of my chest in namaste. This is where I give thanks for giving me life. This is where I disappear into a world only allowed to be entered by myself and love.
With each interrupting flash of imagery of their hands pinning my arms and legs to the ground, I stretch my limbs further apart in liberation. With each remembrance of his fingers tightly squeezing around my throat, I breathe even deeper, expanding my chest as far as it can go. With every wave of exhaustion from the fact that I was not strong enough to break free of their malicious intentions, I exert more energy through my fingers, palms, feet and toes, pushing with every bit of strength into the ground, igniting every fiber in my muscles with a burning fire. Each filthy bead of sweat that drips down my nose and splashes onto the mat rids me of their toxic waste they left inside me. I reach my limitation in each pose and pass it. I flow in between with grace and balance.
An hour later I'm laying on my back. Corpse pose. Palms up in surrender, breathing heavily yet steadily. I feel nauseated from the medication but I am free. I have taken back this body as my own and reunited it with mind and soul. This is where I give thanks for keeping me alive. This is where I re-enter back into the world of reality where there are negatives to every positive and where there is pain and suffering. But I enter it with a stronger skeleton and a more empathetic heart. I awaken fully with forgiveness and expand my being with more love.
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One year has passed. Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I didn't want to have to go through this alone. My friends and family are across the Atlantic and my other half is a two-day Tanzanian bus ride away. The anniversary of such a traumatic event haunts me in ways that I thought I could control with awareness of its coming, but it's as if my body is made of memory foam, and the imprint of their existence has lingered. Stuck in a culture that represses emotion I'm forced to get through this without companionship.
I unroll my yoga mat out in front of me. This time it is flimsy and stained with one year of consistent hard work. The rubber retains the memory of failed attempts, clumsy stumbles, successful breakthroughs and fearless experimentation. Each tear that drips from my chin and splashes onto the mat creates a moment of déjà vu. I remember how I have gotten through this many times before. I reach upwards as high as I can possibly go, stretching onto my tippy toes, and then emptying my belly of every bit of air, I bend down to my legs, placing my hands firmly on the floor next to my feet. I jump back with deliberate force and hold myself in a plank position until my arms begin to shake. I regulate my breath, keeping the calm within the storm and begin my vinyasa flow.
Presence. Ultimate presence. Without having to think I can feel which parts of my body need attention. I stretch, push, bend, and balance without hesitation. My determination reminds me of the year that has passed. I am where I am today because I refused to give up when the world insisted on continuously challenging me. I move with fluidity because I have learned to be flexible with life's transitions. I am able to get back up, brush off, and try again when I fall because I have found truth in forgiveness. Visions of that one night are not able to penetrate my focused mind because I have reclaimed my body as my own. A year ago today I made a promise to myself to not let this destroy me, and I've succeeded so far. Now is no different.
An hour has passed, and I'm laying on my back. Corpse pose. Palms up in surrender. The tears from before have evaporated into the past, and I feel the calmness in my chest that I was looking for. After relaxing every part of my body, I slowly melt into the ground while watching my breath. I have survived. I am strong. I am beautiful.
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For most people the year ends on December 31st and the new year begins the following day. The holiday is symbolic for the breaking of past habits to give way to resolutions and self-growth. The new year brings hope for change and a chance for redemption. It provides us with fresh opportunities for individual improvement and success.
But for me, in 2014 my New Year's Eve changed to January 18th because that was the day that Love saved my life, allowing the following day to bring in a new beginning; a new year full of faith, hope, forgiveness, strength, and perseverance. This year of 2015 and every year yet to come will be that and so much more.
Happy New Year, folks. It's going to be a great one.
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