Life has stopped. I am swallowed whole. I’ve disappeared into the belly of the whale. No breath, no light, no air, no reprieve. While I was busy cleaning up the mess of what had happened, I mistakenly thought my pain was just boxed up all neat and tidy; something I could store in my attic and forget about.
But that’s not how this works. Contrary to popular belief and a culture that perpetuates numbness — I can’t move it or shake it or drink it or chase it or throw it or bury it. The only way out is through.
I chose to retreat to Yelapa, Mexico to move through it. To feel and write and cry and sleep and walk and swim myself, breath by breath, out of the well of grief I in which I was submerged, out of the public eye.
These are my musings, the lessons I slowly learned from the people and the place that is Yelapa. These are how I renegotiated my relationship with Yoga. These entries are my way of coming back to myself.