I wrote this on my personal blog today. It was a simple journal share about my take on this month’s bullet journal spread. A little bit on the journey of healing through art and then the self-inflicted pressure to comply with ideating, creating and doing… everything from scratch and by myself.
The belief pattern was such that everything had to be a challenge and the easy way to do things was just not comprehensible…. or perceivable even!
As the sunflowers were drawn and filled in with color, one by one, the larger picture came into focus – one leaf, one petal, one dot at a time… The free hand opened up the alter-side of the thoughts as they surfaced. Why did I need to do everything from scratch? Why did I need to struggle so hard? Why did I need to reinvent the wheel? Whose approval was I seeking after all? Was I seeking for any approval at all?
I didn’t think I was… I don’t think I am… but was there an unspoken need to let someone else me me for who I am? See that I am this individual doing this thing, living this life…? I don’t know… Was there a pressure to perfect what I portrayed to the world who saw me? And all this while I was actually not looking to portray any sense of perfection at all!
I had no answers, but the questions were slowly starting to make sense in a confused kind of way. So I continued painting in my sunflowers….
Only this time, I started filling them all over the place – with random pleasure and childlike abandon. I started coloring outside the lines I had drawn just a few minutes ago and then pushed the markers outside of their perfect spaces.
And started thinking about my practice – my perfectly imperfect practice! Does my mat bring out my guilt for irregularity? Does my position as a yoga teacher stress me out to live my authenticity, does my vocal choice demand a political correctness for what yoga is meant to be for me?
Maybe…. and maybe not!
Maybe I live in this perfectly, imperfect and asymmetrical juncture of presence where my imperfection is allowed – even though I resist it. In the end, the perfection comes from constantly reminding myself that in the quest for evolution and rising up from the ashes, it is the imperfection and the aware acceptance of it is the impetus to surge.
What does my practice make of me today? What does it urge me to do tomorrow? How do we evolve collectively?
Now that is a larger question that would require the effort to show up in all my imperfection – willing to do what needs to be done.