Why do we love who we love?

Why do we love who we love?

Love conquers all. Or at least we like to think so. And it probably does. In action movies, poems, some novels, many songs and, to some extent, Life. Or in mine at least.

So while I am airborne halfway between Paris and Los Angeles (and we say hi to Cat in Montreal as we fly over her head), let's play a game. I will play it publicly in this blog, because that's what gladly dysfunctional people like me (and most other yoga teachers) do, and because I see otherwise very little interest in writing a blog if you are not willing to be daring, creative or borderline inappropriate. As for you, you will play that game in the comfort of your own privacy, at home.

So here are the rules, which involve a heart-centered meditation (this IS, after all, a yoga-inspired page). Before you go on and read my prose, I invite you to sit down, close your eyes, breathe and exhale softly though your parted lips. Allow your heart to depressurize and soften. Bring the breath to the root of your spine. Keep the vibration there for a few slow, long, deep, relaxed breaths. When you are conscious of the energy resting there, allow your breath to rise up towards your heart, little by little, up and down, without letting it go any higher towards your head. And let the face, or smell, or voice, of each one of these 3 people spontaneously rise in you. Write whatever comes down. Don't judge. Let the Flow circulate. You may be surprised as to who and what comes up, they may not seem to be the most important people in your life today, and maybe they're not, but they are here now to teach you something very specific.

Then daydream, ponder, and let yourself go back to the deep roots of what allowed Love for that being to be unleashed. What music played in your heart? What vibration did they instill in you? What did they allow you to envision that you did not know was possible?


Here I go:

Person #1: my beloved ex
You are me. In you, I see a reflection of me, of my love, of my past, and of what I can accomplish. You are my wave, and I am your rock. You crash onto me and you soften my sharp edges. You are so ever present in everything, that I still wonder whether I can live without you. You have been the ground upon which I stand and the stars up to which I gaze. You have allowed me the hope and strength to manifest all that has arisen through me until now. You allowed my love to change without ever changing who you are. For all that, I love you. And for being real enough to notice the moment when we needed space. You were a visionary in realizing that we were too necessary to one another to realistically accomplish our respective dharmas, and rise. What liberated us bound us. What had made us grow as tall as giants had put a ceiling over our heads. You saw that. I didn't. And for that too, I love you. Into your eyes, my face remains. Always.

Person #2: my pranic wife
We met totally randomly in Venice, brought together by Coral Dear, and just for that, I knew I was going to love you. But then, you started shining your light, like a rising sun, over a calm ocean. Your smile and giggles started and have not ended yet. I love you. In that breakfast joint on Abbot. In that sweat lodge. Your silliness and simplicity, distracting one's attention from your intelligence and amazingly intense experience of this world. Your humility, intertwined with a total lack of shame. Your eyes, which open right into God. Your ability to manifest into the material plane all the Consciousness that overflows in your heart (is that Prakrti or WHAT?). Your strength and groundedness. But most of all, your fragility. Your truthfulness. Your tears. Your heart calling for me. When mine calls for you. Hugging you. Kissing you. Because I love you.
'You probably think I'm crazy, I don't want you to save me, don't mean to disappoint you, I 've never felt so free. If you could stand in my shoes, then you would feel my heart beat too.' (Heartbeat/Hard Candy). That's how I felt when I met you.

Person #3: the one who came out of nowhere and revived my heart (and then broke it, all in 28 hours)
I did not know we would meet until 15 minutes before we were introduced. I saw you and thought to myself 'nice, really nice'. And then we spoke, downstairs, in that 'shower bar' in Paris' 4th (and no, curious reader, I will tell you more about that place, it would not be appropriate in these pages :p) and you won me over. Completely smoothly. You made my heart beat. My face smile. My hands nervous, My mind race and my fires ignite. Out of the blue, unexpectedly, between a hand brushing a stranger's arm and a Desperado, I felt it. That vibration that I know so well. That sacred tremor. That Spanda that I am so intimate with I had to get it tattooed on my right arm. Love. Not for what we have been. Which has been, truly, barely nothing. But rather for what you made me feel and dream of. When the curtains of impossibility is pulled down in a second and everything, everything is totally doable again because of that one moment, one thing only exists that wholly captivated our mind. Love. Not (just) romance or sentimentality, but that primal irresistible pulsation at the root of the spine. That which makes us felt blissful. That which invoked that kiss in the crypt of this amazing Paris church. The hands constantly looking for each other. I love you for the song that you made my heart sing. Despite that which I am not sure about but which froze that pulsation. And brought me (I don't know you ever traveled as far as I did) to a halt. And for that broken heart. I thank you. With all my sacred breath. My heart is not dead. I can completely overreact and shoot up to the moon in 28 hours. To crash at its surface, ok, but shoot up, still. I love you. And to answer, again, your question of that first night, yes, I like romance. A lot. And I would have loved to get a change to give you a taste of it.

Done.

Those of you who are natural artists, whether you sing whenever you are alone, whether you act, whether you secretly write thousands of words each day, whether you paint life-size canvasses in your dreams or small cartoons in the corner of your pages, those of you will understand that I do not have a choice but to write these lines. And that I must have someone read them. I do not have a choice, if I choose liberation. And as the spanda of creation and expression rises, there is no outcome possible but to let it rise, besides spiritual suicide.

So as love rose, so did the pen.

So today, before you go to bed, love someone. In full consciousness and liberation. And tell them. Whisper it in their ear, write a letter or call them.

Love.