Why You Can Always Begin Again (Even If It Feels Like You Can't)
Last night's mantra in my yoga class was Begin Again. I've frequently written about how I use mantras in my classes and workshops.
I've used Begin Again before. I love this one.
When the hands come to prayer in my class there's always a silent mantra. I never know if you say it. It doesn't matter. It's on you. The choice is yours.
It is up to you if you want to think or whisper these words, if you want to use the mantra of the class. But perhaps it's an opportunity to choose our thoughts wisely, to do bit of rewiring. I don't know, and I don't often pretend to. I just use what works for me and then I share that.
But I like it. The hands coming to prayer is like a little meeting place.
Over and over again.
May I always remember that I can begin again. May I have the courage to begin again. Where have I forgotten that I can indeed begin again?
I spoke those words as my class flowed last night. Some yawned. Some teared up. Some nodded. Begin again.
I said that it was perfect that the mantra would be said in tadasana (mountain pose) because tadsana was the base of everything — the beginning of everything.
I hate New Year's resolutions (because I suck so terribly at them), but I think what appeals to me about this time of year is that I get reminded that yes, I can begin again.
I suggested to the class that we can always begin again.
Until we can't.
One day we just can't begin again.
If you read me here you've heard me speak of my dad's death; he died suddenly when he was 38. Nothing is guaranteed. We are not owed anything. But you know this. I know this. We just forget at times.
Which is why it is so important to be here. Now. In our bodies. Right in this moment. "Welcome to yoga," I said to my yoga class.
Say "I love you" and "I am sorry" and "I am here now" or "I am listening" or "I got you," or whatever you need to say because there is no promise that you can begin again.
But most likely you will. Begin again, that is.