Hello dear ones,
I was in my kitchen recently, the French doors ajar, the weather perfect, working at my “standing desk” (really my laptop on the counter stacked on three yoga blocks with a wireless keyboard.) A vase of peonies stood on the counter beside me. As I worked over the course of several hours, I occasionally heard the faintest POP as a petal of a peony unfurled. The other flowers bobbled lightly on their stems.
Peonies look like fuchsia golf balls at first, tightly bound, but over a day or so, they spring into grapefruit sized blooms, frilly and wide open. Getting to see them expand their layers feels like a tiny miracle. All of their potential is squeezed inside a bud an eighth of their eventual size.
Peonies are closed until they’re open. They are working, silently, diligently, to peel back the layers of themselves until POP. In one swift moment, everything changes.
This happens in the yoga practice. For years I thought, my heels will never touch the floor in down dog. For years, my heels seemed to hover an inch or so above the floor, the tension in my hamstrings and calves just a little too much to allow them to touch down. Until one day, they did. Nothing drastic changed between one day and next, just consistent, incremental effort over time.
They simply weren’t ready, until they were.
In 1927 in Australia there was an experiment in which scientists poured hot tar pitch into a funnel, and then waited to see what would happen. Eight years later, the first drop fell. The experiment is ongoing, and so far, there have been 9 drops, at about one drop every 10 years. No one has ever seen a drop fall.
You are always unfolding.
There is no such thing as stuck. There is only unfurling at a slower pace than is visible to the naked eye.