A blog post by Mary Moscarello. Read all of Mary’s blog posts here

Photo credit: Mary Moscarello. Banner image by Niklas Weiss on Unsplash

“We are all walking each other home.” ~Rumi

I love the idea of walking each other home from the Sufi poet, Rumi. There’s action implied in that phrasing of how we move through life. There’s community suggested also. I see a peaceful destination as well in those seven words. It doesn’t have to signify the end of life – which is often the understanding – but a temporary stop on our journey as well.

A walk is a journey.

A yoga session on the mat, whether practicing pranayama, meditation, asana or a combination of those can also be a journey.

Recently while I led friends of mine in a simple little practice – I had the added task of working to keep the noise of chainsaws from distracting me. 

The above photo is the last of that tree’s tall, beautiful life. 

Blame it on “The Giving Tree” but the idea of cutting a tree down is one I can never make lightly or without a sense of pain and loss. I used to talk to trees, playing outside as a young girl. I fully believed they had spirits and heard my stories – even as I strained to hear what they might whisper back.

We had that tree cut down – and every mental answer to the question “why?” that I come up with sounds mean. Thanks again, Shel Silverstein.

It took a team of two guys and what sounded like a dozen chainsaws and leaf blowers a few hours to finish the job. I had a yoga class for friends scheduled right smack dab in the middle of it all. And so it became the backdrop to my practice in more ways than one. 

The act of leaving the backyard where all the tree murder tree cutting was happening and walking to my yoga studio upstairs on the third floor gave me physical space from the noise. In no way was it quiet, but the noise was softer somehow.

I got to walk to a more quiet area of my home. I took action to create space. It was still noisy and very challenging for me to stay in the moment, especially as the asana portion of the class began to wind down. My students were gracious of course and didn’t register even the slightest complaint about it, but as a yoga teacher, I admit to an ever-present – yet wildly unattainable and extremely misplaced – intention of wanting to “make things right” for my students. 

That is not my job.

My job is to create a safe pace for my students to come back to the present moment. To walk them away from noise. Back to safety. To calm. To walk back to peace and perhaps open them up to being more in touch with the experiences they might be having.

Sometimes you find it on the mat, but only if you look.