Valentine’s Day: Believing when not seeing

Svatantrya: self looming or weaving as in the tapestry of life.

Each February I dedicate a yoga class theme to a matter of the heart— strokes – a brain attack due to interruption of blood flow. Why not true love, cupid and soul mates? Too obvious, (I know some of you will be nodding yes : ) but also because a few years ago now, my Dad, a seemingly healthy man in his mid 50s, suffered a stroke on of all days, the day of the heart, Valentine’s Day.

So, why annually revisit such a traumatic event? Well because his recovery is the story I hold close when I lose trust in believing without seeing. My reflections remind me that radical transformation is possible. I’ve seen it. This story is the “you can do it” which checkmates my doubts that simply doing my best to be an authentic version of “me” will result in progress even when I don't see the change(at times year after year after year...after year...).

All stories need to introduce the main character. My Dad, plain and simple, owns his seat (asana). Regardless of outside influences, however astonishing or heartbreaking, he knows who he is at his core, selflessly shares his gifts (madhurya) and demonstrates an unwavering desire to do what is right. His creative resourcefulness is awe inspiring, and the results a reminder that art is not limited to what you find in a theatre or a museum. Just check out the before and after shots of a dilapidated home he has painstakingly restored or watch him McGyver a problem with ease, like getting an inoperable piece of household machinery going with some string, a safety pin and bubble gum.

It’s no surprise soon after his stroke, while he could no longer find the word for elbow or comprehend a phone number, his instincts said let’s get back to being “me” and start fixing this. And he did. We tried to help. We sat with him through 3rd grade phonics and lame video games, but he knew better. He needed to move, to get back to the type of work he knew best, even if that meant climbing on a roof to make a complex repair, while still unable to speak well.

While I suspect it may not have always felt like this to him, from my vantage point, I watched someone show up each day, no questions, no blame, no why me (ever)…facing the uncertainty of the future, stakes high, not knowing what it would hold, just doing what he could to accept his circumstances, be himself through the process and move on. Now that’s believing without seeing.

Our ability to heal never ceases to amaze me. In the case of stroke, the healing can consist of the restoration of pathways which re-reveal years of knowledge—memories, vocabulary, math—seemingly erased, yet latent and unseen all along. Similarly, on our mats, it’s often hard to believe showing up and doing the best darn chaturaunga (low push up) with head of the arm bones back will build the strength required to one day accomplish pincha mayruarsana padmasana (fore arm balance in lotus). But it does. Or that the power of our hearts and our capacity to love is always there—always—even though it may lay buried beneath layers of disappointment, fear, and in a smattering of broken pieces.

I admit around the holidays of that year I had settled into the idea that my Dad would always need a notebook to remember conversations, stutter as he searched for common words, ask my mom to read his menu or struggle to dial the phone because the numbers would get mixed up travelling the matrix of his mind. Likewise, I’ve given up on an asana or two (urdhva “d” (wheel) drop back and then back up to stand), lost trust in myself, or more often than I’d like to admit let the disappointments of life cloak my willingness to risk exposing my heart.

I did not see the connections being made and doubted healing was possible. Now that’s seeing what I believe.

Then – shazzam, shift happens! I will never forget a random phone call from my Dad in April of the following year. Something had unfolded. Our conversation was lucid and I was talking to someone seemingly lost a year or so ago! Critical links had been made and pathways had been restored. What appeared as rapid transformation was anything but. This progress had been in the works for a long time, I just didn't see it. Similarly, I'm reminded of those latch hook rugs my sister and I crafted as kids. Looming and weaving, spending days on one part—the intricate blades of grass—so much so that we lost sight of the bigger picture—the grand lioness presiding over her forest—which only unfolded when we hooked the last few pieces of yarn into place.

Most of us (knock on wood now!) will only know the symptoms of stroke as an allegory for blockages which restrict that looming flow of energy, the svatantrya, and reveal themselves during times when we find ourselves:
• Numb
• Confused, problems speaking
• Trouble seeing clearly
• Losing our balance
• Painful Headache that comes on suddenly for unknown reason
• Unable to smile, raise both arms, or stick tounge out straight

Now if these symptoms are physical, please dial 911 ASAP! If a stroke is caught within three hours, there are medical advances which can reverse the affects (that’s the public service announcement worth repeating year after year). But if more likely your reference point is symbolic, then I recommend you find your way to your mat, and pull out one of the many technologies in your yoga tool kit, tools that help us: know our seat (meditation), get things moving (pranayama), clear out the fog (mantra), or reopen pathways (asana).

Svatantrya means to loom or to weave freely, not knowing how the pattern will unfold, yet trusting connections are being made. That’s the yoga – the yoking – the making of connections. The invitation is that you own your seat (asana) and steadfastly exploit being you, throughout the process.

Each year my hope is that by sharing this story you are reminded of your own story of affirmation – when you’ve seen the "pop", connections which had been looming and weaving below the surface suddenly manifest themselves. Perhaps it was a yoga asana you never though you could master, simply planting seeds and watching them blossom in the spring, or a much more personal matter of the heart. Whatever it is, however big or small, my wish is that you too now hold it close whenever you need to trust in believing without seeing.