Maybe like grass sinking under a foot.
Or like a pile of worms.
Or like water that is getting bigger and bigger.
Once, at yoga school, we did an exercise in Phoenix Rising yoga therapy, where our partner held us, supine, in an intense hip opener. At some point, I realized, maybe because of the overwhelming number of memories and emotions: my life has been infinite.
I am told most people never have that feeling, that it's usually the opposite. I don't feel done, or fully expanded. I have a lot of experiences on my list of things to do before I die that I've yet to check off.
But for a short moment, I felt all the lifetimes worth of living I've already done. It wasn't a connection with past lives or anything like that, either. I just felt how far I have traveled, and it seemed endless.
Maybe take a moment to remember your endlessness. There is someone you used to be.
It's a little funny writing this because Alex was telling me about the Buddhist concept of no self last night. How there is no core, only fluctuation and accrued patterns. But that's a copy of a copy of an explanation.
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