& In the Stillness, The Angels Whispered
My Grandfather was a pastor.
A pastor to the Anglican Church, the American version is something called Episcopalian. Who knows why the words are different, but they mean the same thing, the same sect of Christianity.
Naturally, that was the church I grew up in, was baptized in.
Lately, I have been grappling with two persistent themes in my life, both happening to reach their climactic, eruptive end as a blend in complete catharsis, tonight.
The Universe never misses a moment to deliver a pure synchronicity and “crack your heart open,” as my yoga teacher would say.
The first theme has been religion. As I have written on my blog about before, although raised in the church, I have since vehemently denied its concept.
I have done a lot of deep soul sea-fishing trying to understand why I not only feel that way, but become argumentative around the topic.
Recently, I found out my sister was going to baptize my nephew. Instead of just understanding her own life decision and feeling happy for her family’s next step, I had to contest it, confused by her decision, clouded by my own opinions of the church.
In a conversation with my mother, I can recall the words I used in the conversation regarding my feelings of the church: “stupid,” “pointless,” “performative.” She said my grandfather would be sad.
In a recent conversation with my partner, I combatted his rationale on heaven and hell, on the use of the word “God” that I felt was a divisive term when there are so many others he could use, and instead of allowing a constructive conversation on the different arenas around spirituality, I felt the urge to argue, to defend, to insult, and to crucify.
A lot of our behaviors and opinions in adulthood can be shaped by our early childhood experiences, or traumas that shaped our subconscious mind. The opinion and basis of thinking is so subconscious, that when I refer back to those recent conversations with my mother and partner, I don’t even know where those words and emotion even stemmed from.
What happened to the pastor’s grand-child.
The second theme has been a throb of imposter syndrome that has rose once again in my consciousness.
I recently got another job as a yoga teacher at a popular studio in Miami. I have been in training for the past week, learning their flows, sequences, and preferred verbiage.
I became slightly overwhelmed because I KNOW how hard it is to get a yoga job in Miami, there’s at least 200+ new yoga teachers graduating from yoga teacher training every 6 months. It is a competitive field and my intrinsically, occasionally pessimistic brain will convince myself I’m not meant to be the one.
Thoughts came into my mind like how did I even get here? Hundreds of millions of people practice yoga everyday, I had only been practicing everyday for maybe a year, when something inside me just signaled for me to teach, and then up until now I have only been teaching for about a year.
But it felt like the logical next step, a “destiny,” if you want to be cliche. When I float around the classroom, guiding, instructing, assisting, healing…I feel comfortable, natural, and almost ancestral. Like I’ve been here many times before, and so I have no need to learn, when all I am doing is remembering, and reciting once more.
I have memories of my younger self disgusted with the idea of ever growing up and becoming a teacher.
That’s when I realized I’m not a teacher, I’m a pastor.
Which brings us to the events of today.
I was driving going to get groceries this Monday morning when I caught myself reflecting on my Sunday morning yoga class with my teenage girls at the Eating Disorder Clinic.
Instinctively that morning, I cultivated a space for the girls to feel and be safe, something I felt that they were in dire need for at that particular moment, remnants perhaps of the Scorpio eclipse.
I curated a playlist, like I always do, brought my palm santo, an sound bowl, and sequenced a flow for them to feel empowered.
After every class with the girls or a private one, it feels like a blur to me, and I leave with this lingering energy of pure elation, something almost indescribable because it’s completely intangible. Something I cultivate for the humans that need it, something Source or God allows me to transmute and spread.
It’s a surrendering, I allow the message to float through me, and I understand myself as the messenger.
It was in this realization, in these memories, that I realized that a yoga studio is church, the teachers, the pastors.
No matter the labels attached, the premise is the same, the feelings evoked, the sense of meaning, the connection to something greater, all themes play equal chords.
It is then that I realized, the legacy of my grandfather, his desire to transform lives through the word, the word that flowed, grew, and created through him—flowed, grew, and created through me.
I understood his purpose, and I understood my own.
Contemplating these topics, and growing my understanding of why I am a yoga teacher, I started listening to a podcast.
One of my favorites for health and wellness themed topics, The Art of Being Well, by Dr. Will Cole was interviewing a popular pianist, RIOPY.
Dr. Will Cole asked him, “How do you compose your music, how are you able to create these magical sounds that evoke so much feeling in the listener in the unique way that you do?”
RIOPY replied simply, “Pain.”
And then continued to explain the suffering he endured as a child in a French cult, but most importantly, how he found renewal and healing through meditation, yoga, and music.
This interview intrigued me to go and listen to his music, I continued to listen to it for the rest of the day.
Piano music will always stimulate memories of my early childhood with my father, who constantly filled our house with music as he played the ivory keys. As I grew older, I finally grew into a real appreciation of it.
It is through the simplicity of sound and frequency that you hear a person’s soul, over their speech. It is the most beautiful music in the world. The way RIOPY is able to convey so much emotion, and thus, stir so much emotion for yourself, is truly incredibly to hear.
This evening, I chose to walk to a yoga studio I have been practicing at, to attend the class of a teacher that has her own personal ability to create true magic.
I was listening to RIOPY, and watching the palm tree leaves dance, and fell into thoughts about water, and how it flows in so many different directions proving the existence of energy invisible to the eye, surrounding us at all times.
As I tuned into that invisible energy on my walk, I felt connection. To what, exactly, I wasn’t sure, but I opened to listen.
In Savasana that evening after class, I felt myself release from my need to understand, to be right about all the concepts around spirituality. I understood that just having the ability to feel something, is spirituality, whenever, whoever, wherever.
I felt tears, and then I felt my grandfather.
Lying there beside me on the mat, I smiled in the understanding. I can never doubt myself as a teacher, as a guide, because Source is speaking through me, and he, is speaking through me as well.
At that moment, the teacher of the class, who tends to speak abundantly about honoring our ancestry, invited us to speak to an ancestor, or perhaps invite them into the Savasana with us and give them a message.
I stopped myself from outright bawling in the middle of a public yoga class (which you should never do, always allow emotion), and laughed at the strange synchronicity.
I told my grandfather, “thank you.”
As I floated home after class, energy in another dimension, so excited to get home and wind down. I lit a candle, started making some homemade pizza, and turned my lamps on and the lights low to keep my vibe going.
I decided to turn on RIOPY again, this time his new album, and went to his opening page on Apple Music.
I was about to fold some laundry when I saw, the first song, RIOPY’s “most popular song” right on his cover page, was the song he did with Lana Del Rey off her latest album, and greatest musical art piece to date.
“Grandfather please stand on the shoulders of my father while he’s deep sea-fishing,” (a long song title I know, but it was the song she wrote in honor of her grandfather.”
And there it was, release. I allowed myself to cry, cry hard, the cry I withheld all Scorpio Full Moon, the cry I withheld during yoga. It was loud and obnoxious, and the exact reset my body needed. And then I laughed, so hard.
Our angels find ways to communicate with us all the time, and when we’re in alignment, they affirm it.
This is the work. Stay open.
“God, if You’re near me, send me three white butterflies
Or a map to know Your vision, impart on me
Your wisdom.”
- Grandfather please stand on the shoulders of my father while he’s deep sea fishing, Lana Del Rey & RIOPY
🤍
