Dancing in the dark.

Sometimes if I get really quiet and really still, I can tune into the whispers of the Divine within. Sometimes I wish those whispers would get a little louder, a little clearer, a little more direct. A little more free flowing. A little more real.

There’s the Knowing. And there’s the darkness that I stumble around in while I dance between second-guessing and absolute trust. 

This whole idea of already having all the answers, of being an expression of the Divine, is new to me. It feels a little like I’m looking everywhere for my sunglasses that have been patiently sitting on the top of my head the entire time. Like, “hey Laura, I’m right here. This is cool, all this searching and adventurous tomfoolery, but just so you know… I’m right here.” 

We think we can find Light, Clarity, Divine Union outside of us. We can’t. 

If we stop the thrashing, the wild incoherence of self-struggle, we might get to that stillness that is required. It’s going to take patience, discipline, courage, faith. It’s going to demand that we grow. Up. In. Out. Expanding our awareness into the places that scare us, into the places that hold deep wisdom, into the places that are bigger than us but ARE US just the same. 

It’s the place where the dark and the light become one and we realize that all we want, need, desire, all that we are is available to us in every moment. 

It is there for us. It is loud. It is clear. It is more direct, more free-flowing. It is real.

Twisted.

I love/love/hate yoga. I love the moments of bliss and self-realization I receive from practicing, and I love/hate the moments of blinding clarity I encounter regarding my never-ending desire to control all the things outside of my control. I know this is a good thing. I have a place to safely reflect on the fact that I’m comparing and competing with nearly every single person in the room. It’s atrocious. And awesomely sobering. 

I was in a class once where we

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