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Divine messages

By Jessica Tomaz

My yoga practice has led me to believe that there is no such thing as an accident. My tumble down the stairs was no “accident.” It was an anonymous message from a higher source. It wasn’t the first time I had been sent that message either.  But since I didn’t listen the other times, the universe had to speak a little louder. That’s the way it seems to go. We learn the same lessons over and over again until they actually sink in.

It would be great if we could get everything the first time, or even better if we could learn from the mistakes of others. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) it doesn’t always seem to go that way. But, that’s the beauty of our journey. If life was always sweet and comfortable, transformation would be hard to come by. Major shifts happen when we associate enough discomfort or pain with our current way of being. Some might be content eating McDonald’s and Oreos all day long. They might not love their lives, but there is no driving force for change. When that same person gets the diagnosis of diabetes or heart disease, the pain might be strong enough to get him moving and eating healthy food.

For me, my pain was physical, as evidenced by the beautiful scars on my face, but it was also emotional. Waking up at the bottom of the stairs with blood all over scared the heck out of me. It was definitely one of the most surreal experiences of my life, not exactly realizing where I was, not knowing why there was blood. It took awhile to put it all together and get help. As I later reflected on what had happened, it quickly became clear what I was supposed to learn and how I needed to make change. I had spent all my energy the morning of the fall caring for 7-month-old Yasmin, who was especially needy that day. As a result I had skipped breakfast and had had very little water. I believe that, with the combination of my body’s energy use for milk production, left me weak enough to faint (albeit in a very bad location). I’ve now learned the lesson that I’m sure moms across the globe have had to learn in one way or another. That is that I need to care for myself first, to put my oxygen mask on first, so to speak. Only if I am healthy, peaceful, and balanced can I truly offer myself to the task of motherhood. This is a universal lesson, not only for parents. In any relationship we must first honor and care for ourselves. Only then can we offer our true selves and hearts to the beautiful people and glorious world around us.

After my fall, an orthopedic specialist told me that because of my neck and shoulder injuries it would be at least six months before I practiced yoga again. Three weeks later I was standing on my head and walking on my hands again. I’m not advocating disregarding doctor’s advice, but I am advocating that we all listen to our bodies more and work to heal from within instead of always looking outside ourselves for the fix.

From the moment I arrived at the ER I began meditating on my healing and thanking the universe that I still had my family, my breath, and my legs to walk. But even if they were all to disappear, I would still have God, so life was good! I watched funny movies and laughed a lot. Within weeks I felt like nothing ever happened. The only thing I notice of my accident now is the scars on my forehead from where the stitches were (and my inability to bind that totally loco pose Marichyasana D in on the left side in Primary Series!). I am so grateful for yoga practice. I believe the outcome of my injury may not have been nearly as positive without it.

People often ask how I can commit so much of my time to the practice and study of yoga. They often say “Yoga’s so hard.” They’re definitely right. Coming to the mat day after day, being in meditation to quiet the mind, practicing svadyaya (introspection and scripture study), and eating a diet that is healing for the body and the Earth are all things that require work, hard work.  Though, it becomes increasingly easier. Once you find your presence in the flow the work becomes joyful. It becomes divine participation. And it is ultimately so much easier to do that work than not to. The physical and mental benefits of the practice are great, but the freedom found in the journey is beyond all measure of joy. The process of transformation is what makes life worth living. A beautiful teacher of mine once said to me, “Want a resurrection? Something’s got to die.”

Our injuries are here to teach us. If we listen to the things that bring us pain, physical or emotional, and use them as tools for growth and transcendence we come to view these occurrences as divine messages. If we resist our pain and discomfort, we may miss some beautiful transformation. When the universe speaks to you, I recommend listening. For, if you don’t, it is sure to speak louder the next time.