Undressed

My fingertips fumble for the button. I ache to make it come undone. Naked. I’m ready to be naked, to stand still and quiet out in the world. It’s summer. I want to let the sun kiss my skin. It’s always been summer, and yet I’ve lived in such fear of winter, wearing so many layers, stacking layer atop of layer, afraid to face life without layers, scared to be naked. Scared to be still, scared to sit in the moment, scared of the spaciousness of life. It’s hot beneath all these layers. I’m sweating. I’m suffocating.

I tell myself to let go, to unbutton the buttons, and let the layers fall away. There’s a universe within. I sense it pulsating through my veins. I’m ready to set that universe free. I cling to the layers though, to the rigid macadam-crusted earth.

I said it was summer, but its actually fall, and today I walked in the sun, and sat in the shade of a tree, on a bench, and leaves fell around me. They danced from the sky, twirling and teasing. It was beautiful. And I thought how interesting a thing it is, how the leaves change in color, and when they are done changing, when they reach some non-changing state, they die, and eventually they fall away. Even the leaves though, when dead, they cling, they hang on. And then the wind comes. It blows, and detaches them from the tree, shaking them just enough to break the last vestige of bondage, and that’s when they start their dance back to earth, back home. And the leaves, even though they are dead, they seem happy, free.

I haven’t let my dead leaves fall yet. I’m bundled in layers of dead leaves.

The funny thing is, I can't fight the layers, the tree doesn't disown the leaves, the breeze comes, and frees them. So the layers, like all things, have a purpose. They are there for a reason. I'm thankful for my layers, they have served me well, protecting me, saving me, motivating me. It’s hard for me to say goodbye; it feels like gravest of betrayals. My dear ego has been such a loyal protector, a courageous, passionate, yes, admittedly, overzealous friend. She loves me, like a somewhat rebellious and quarrelsome loyal disciple; she's a warrior, a solidier in uniform.

Without the uniform, who will I be? I wonder how I'll be able to do it. The uniform is my shield, my certainty, my answer to the chaotic, unknown questions of life.  Can I take the uniform off, and live without an answer. Who will I be without the uniform, without Ego, without her fierce aggressive passion spurning me forward, onwards. Maybe ‘I’ will not be. Maybe, there will just be space, existence, being, a sort of free-flowing formlessness.

I’ve come far. I’m still not there yet. Really though how can I ever be there? It’s impossible to ever be there, because here is the only place I can ever be. Right here, where I am, experiencing whatever there is to experience.  Still I distract myself.

I wonder when it started, the distracting. What was I distracting myself from?  I was afraid of something, some ghost, some shadow. I'm afraid of others. The fear, its a reflection of myself.  I see in others, what I see in myself, unknown power. I am afraid of myself. I have been afraid for a long time. I am not afraid of the darkness, the darkness is comforting. It’s the light that I’ve hidden, its the light that frightens me most. Maybe love is the original fear. Its so abundant, I had to protect it. Whatever is in me now, its always been in me, and I’ve always been afraid of it.  

 So I’ve hid, I’ve pretended. I’ve searched.

I’ve searched for myself in so many things – sports, school, words, stories, relationships, yoga. I’ve searched in so many places, I’ve been all over the globe, and I’ve never found myself. The search, the seeking, its my excuse, my distraction. The idea that there is something to find in life, that’s the distortion. There isn’t anything to find.  I haven’t lost anything. I’ve shrouded myself in layers, in forms, in expectations, only so I could keep the pretense that something was lost. It’s not lost, its just buried deep inside of me.

Yoga is not the answer; doing is not the answer; winning is not the answer, running is not the answer; even love, is not the answer. Life has no answers.

I am alive, and that is sort of wonderful. I could spend all my time searching for answers that don’t exist, or I could explore what does exist, and exploration sounds fun. It makes life sound like an adventure. A change in words,  a momentous shift in perspective. It’s so simple. It cuts through the layers. Maybe I've found the button. I'll unbutton it, and when the wind comes, I'll let my layers fall away. I'll let myself be naked.