The yoga of dissonance: a tribute to New York

Recently I have had to grapple with something so scary, so uncomfortable, so hard to piece together:  my past.  For one reason or another, last week, over the course of about three days, I had four very uncomfortable conversations with people from my past.  People who I care very deeply about, yet for some reason experience a sort of disconnect with.

I read recently in an article about yoga that people feel they need to fall in love to be whole.  This writer was of the opinion that we are born whole, and that falling in love breaks us, cracks us, and that that crack is how light gets in.  Often times falling in love is incredibly inconvenient, maybe we fell in love with the "wrong" person, at the "wrong" time.  Maybe this love is causing a huge interruption in our lives, jobs, families and friends; maybe falling in love and getting our hearts broken is the exact same thing.  To take it further I could say that these cracks, the dissonance that we all experience at one point or another, whether from falling in or out of love, are not only what makes us different as individuals; but are also what make us the same.  Love is one of the universal concepts, love is THE word in the universal language; of all the things I have taught my son in his short fifteen months of life, I never had to teach him to smile.  He just knew.  His many smiles, no doubt, come from all the love he receives.

So despite these uncomfortable conversations, confrontations between people who strive to avoid confrontation, and breaks in the routine of pretending nothing is wrong, I suddenly feel more whole.  Ready to let go of my past and move on to the future.  Once again, the alchemy of creating joy out of sorrow.

However, things are happening all around me.  Not in my family, or my neighborhood exactly; but in my global universe, in my country.  We recently discovered that the universe is expanding at an accelerated rate, and I certainly feel that in my being.  How do I keep up?  How do I make more joy, out of more sorrow, at a more accelerated rate?  Since my family has begun to uproot to North Carolina we have experienced an earthquake, a hurricane that took the livelihood from many farmers in my sweet community of upstate New York; the tenth anniversary of something from our New York past so painful, so confusing, so heart wrenching, so exhausting it is hard to think about even now, ten years later.  We have seen a man be executed, despite overwhelming evidence of his innocence.  And now, people, people everywhere, speaking their minds on the streets of New York.  People who might generally avoid confrontation, expressing themselves, protesting injustice, asking questions and demanding answers; people who feel the pain of the broken-ness, the ramp-up of economic instability in the past and present, the disconnect between brother and sister.  People being met with hostility and rage from those who are supposed to be protecting them.  Plenty of cracks, but where, may I ask, is the light?  When will the universal disconnect between cultures create universal, harmonious, inconvenient, pain in the ass love?

I don't know.  I do know, that to truly love someone, you have to ask uncomfortable questions and demand answers.  That being a member of a strong family, a strong community or a strong country, that being patriotic, truly patriotic, truly in love with your country; you have to have scary confrontations.  In order to piece together the past and let more light in for the future, sometimes you have to fight.  And it may not happen right away, but you have to have faith that the broken-ness and the darkness of the past, and the possibility of light in the future, will come together to create one, beautiful, satisfying, sweet, harmonious, present moment.  And that is the yoga of dissonance.

So without further ado, here is to my Dad, who has worked hard in corporate America for over twenty years, so that I could get a liberal arts education, have a roof over my head, and write about yoga.  Thank you.  Here is to my Mom, who will never let a New York season go by without reflecting and reveling in the beauty of the present moment.  Thank you.  Here is to my brother, who although may be rooting for the Cardinals tonight, is a G-man through and through.  Thank you.  Here is to my other brother, a Yonkers policeman, who has seen more cracks and less light than I ever care to imagine, and still has the strength and courage to love and be loved.  Thank you.  Here is to my sister, who is a brutally honest and beautiful person.  Thank you.

Here is to all the New Yorker's who are scrambling around to buy firewood, ice scrapers, shovels and salt; preparing for the darkness, yet knowing there will be light once again on the other side.  Thank you.  Here is to the farmers of upstate New York, slowly putting the pieces of their lives back together.  Thank you.  Here is to Ani Difranco, A Tribe Called Quest, and the Wu-Tang Clan (yes I just put those three musicians in the same category), bonified New Yorkers whose music got me through many a tough time.  Thank you.  Here is to Elissa, who made me laugh so hard, so many times, who showed me so much love, who drove my sorry butt around Yorktown Heights so many times, and who forgave me for forgetting to say thank you.  Thank you.  Here is to a professional Chef, who gets the best boss ever award, who showed me that it is possible to run an ethical business, who made me the best tofu scramble I've ever had in my life.  Thank you.  Here's to a little place whose grassy fields, quiet lakes, and creaky doors will always hold the most special of places in my heart, Pine Lake Manor, and for those of you whose familiar faces I look forward to seeing year after year...thank you.  Here is to Hartwick College and especially a Mr. Sandy Huntington, who taught a skeptical young lady without judgement.  Thank you.  Here is to a Mr. A.J. Burnett, who I doubted, and who humbled me.  Thank you.  Here is to my husband, a bonified and official, aggressive New York driver and die-hard Yankee fan; and my son, who will always be originally from New York.  Thank you.

Here is to those folks, those hard-working folks who are really and truly in love with their country.  Who are breaking the routine of pretending nothing is wrong, who are showing up on Wall Street today to ask the uncomfortable questions, to demand uncomfortable answers, not knowing whether they will end up in jail or in love; taking small cracks and driving pressure into them to make bigger cracks, so that there can be a bigger and better platform for more light, more justice, more wholeness.  Thank you.

Here is to lil ol self-absorbed me.  My tough New York past, with my tough big brothers, coming together in harmony with a beautiful, motherly femininity that is all my own.  My uncomfortable past, the possibility of a bright future, and the only thing I know how to do in the meantime, in the grace of this present moment....breathe.