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Pause & Effect

It’s a full moon—do you know where your blog post is?

I am in a panic. What seemed inviting seven months ago—a commitment to turn out a couple of pieces a month—now takes a kind of fortitude and attention I don’t feel like I have. With things to do pressing in from all sides, it feels natural to consider letting this one go.

But somehow I don’t want to …

 

A funny thing happened on the way to this post. As the topic expanded and contracted in my brain and as the attempts on the page, now deleted from the white space above, evolved and were rejected, the full moon arrived and left. Resigned to be late again, I eyed my regular writing time on Thursday afternoon. My calendar for that 90-minute period reads: write full moon overneath entry! Then, I went out the door first thing Thursday morning without a computer. Surprise. A blogger cannot post to a blog without a suitable electronic device.

And I felt, sitting during my allotted writing time with my son at a coffee shop, like I’ve been feeling a lot recently, as though I were ready to follow a recipe but with one essential ingredient missing, the one you have to travel to a specialty shop for. Of late, it isn’t just writing a blog post without a computer: try teaching a yoga class without any students. My brain leaps immediately to inquire, if you open a yoga studio and no one comes, does the yoga studio exist? Not that no one has been coming—because wonderful, amazing, marvelous, spirited, smiling yogis have been joining the classes at Radiant Om Yoga regularly. But we’ve held a class here and there with just one person and several with no one at all.

At one of my corporate sites, too, where my regularly scheduled class Thursday was brimming with fourteen, the October special classes, usually popular, have attracted zero, one, and zero people thus far.

On one hand, I worry. While they kindly pay me at my corporate gig whether I teach or not, the economic implications of a studio with empty classes are a small business owner’s worst nightmare. On the other hand, Radiant Om Yoga has been open little more than two weeks. This is Iowa—I built it and I really do believe they will come.

So I wonder—the universe certainly doesn’t mean to hand me this particular basket of worry. Why, then, the empty spaces?

The answer comes, in a round about way, from Twelve. He announces, as we are en route to fencing practice, that he has been making his head hurt all day thinking about time travel. In no time at all, his explanation of what he’s been considering has my head in a spin. He says he doesn’t believe in time because it’s not a physical thing that passes; it’s only a representation of people moving and doing things and there is no physical way of measuring—like meters or grams—if it is real. Also, time travel would be completely irrelevant, he tells me, because either it would be necessary for alternate universes to exist or the entire world would be transported back in time … if time were to exist.

This week, the brilliant full moon that usually so quickly appears to wane, has stayed bright and nearly round now fully three nights after its official apex. When I woke this morning, it lit my room, casting shadows. It’s waiting, it seems, before we all move on. It’s like a pause and I realize, whether or not you believe in time or time travel, we need to pause. Maybe that’s why I’ve had unexpected spaces in a schedule that is beyond packed? Maybe it’s okay to take a moment, a breath, to wait and see what comes next. Maybe that’s why I’ve found myself with pauses in time when what I’m scheduled to do, I cannot.

What happens during those pauses? Ideas arrive, alongside understanding, emotional and energetic shifts, and things to write about. The moon is not still full, but it looked like it this morning. And so I celebrate, defuse a little of the madness, and know that when I pause what comes next is inevitably the next word, the next phrase, the next idea for writing. I keep putting down the words even now because when I pause I know that like so many writers, I write because not writing is never an option.

Wishing you a delightful pause in your travels today, through time or space or otherwise, Rxo

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About Robin Bourjaily

I currently perform my own stunts as a mother, writer, editor, yoga instructor, and certified Yoga As Muse facilitator. Overneath It All is a medium for sharing my stories--my commitment is to post on the full and new moons, plus or minus a day or two, and the occasional personal holiday. My novel, Throwing Like a Girl, is now available in e-formats on Smashwords. Please visit https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/516628 to download. Thanks for checking in. xoR

6 responses »

  1. Robin —
    Thank you for this post! We all need time to pause. I enjoy my time for this at both your yoga studio and in your blogs. You have built it and, yes, we will come! Thank you for giving all of us these places to pause, stretch our minds and bodies, and imagine what can come next…
    xo
    Kay

    Reply
  2. I have not been in because the universer or my granddaughter or the woman next to me on the airplane gave me a cold. I didn’t take it willingly. The message I got was to have a personal retreat at home for a couple days. It was really nice, Zicam, Breathe Easy Tea, books, music, Netflix and computer games. So many things to do! I missed being told how to stretch, though. See you soon! Jeanne

    Reply
    • Jeanne–sounds like the universe gave you an invitation to find a different kind of stretch. I’m so glad you’re taking care of you. And I’ll look forward to seeing you just as soon as the cold wanes! Feel better, Rxo

      Reply
  3. Robin: I’m glad you show up. Your moonly reflections help me do likewise. I also think you’re a good model of what experience-based blogging can be. Resolved, without regard for success or failure, this equanimity is yoga. (I stole that from Krishna in the B-Gita, as you know :-)).

    Peace and glows,
    Jeffrey

    Reply
    • Steal is such a harsh-sounding word. We should all be so lucky as to have our wisdom passed on long after we’re no longer writing/speaking/teaching. Showing up? That’s something that you taught me to do. Gratefully, R

      Reply

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