Invisibility and Silence

Sometimes I like to be invisible and I like to be silent.
I just do.
It has taken me all of my forty years to fully know, understand and accept this about myself and to share it with you. 

I am a very sociable person.  I love people.  I like to be out and about and to talk to people - all people - the ones I know and the ones I don't know. I like to learn about people and to learn about myself through other people and, truly, other humans are endlessly fascinating and wonderful (sometimes in their awfulness!) and they have so much to teach you if you let them.  And I love teaching and I am so content when I stand in front of a class of yogis that I forget myself entirely, I am so joyfully in the flow of what I do that it absorbs me completely and wholeheartedly. 

But sometimes, quite often, I need to be silent and I need to be invisible.  So I sit in a tea shop with my book and half read, half watch the world go by, observing, but unobserved.  Or I walk the dog in solitary bliss and try not to mind when I bump into other humans along the other way.  I contrive to find times for myself when I can be alone and quiet, even in the middle of a crowd (sometimes those times are the best).

This means that some situations are quite difficult for me: Christmas, for example, when everyone is in the same house at the same time and there is noise and jollity and busyness.  I love it.  And suddenly I don't.  And I need to escape.  And I hope nobody minds when I sneak off to be invisible and silent somewhere else.

Do you know what a simple thing this is, my need for invisibilty and silence?  Do you know how long it has taken me to understand this about myself, to encompass it in my life, to accept it in myself; to learn how to give myself the blessed gift of invisibility and silence without regret or guilt?

Isn't it silly how hard it is to fully know ourselves and to give ourselves what we need to be well.  Isn't it sad that it can be so hard to ask clearly for what we need from the world and the people around us.  Isn't it a shame that if you don't have a practice like yoga, you might never come to understand, quite simply and without fanfare, who exactly you are and how wonderful who you are is.

What things might you know about yourself, but be unwilling to acknowledge?  Who would you rather be?  What might life be like if you were able to completely accept your lovely self as you are?  How might life feel if you gave yourself permission to give yourself the nurturance that you need when you need it?  How would it be if you were to ask others to help you to be well; to let them love you as they would like to? 


Comments

  1. Wow, this has just been posted, as I caught up with the last 3! All great to read; and then come back to read again and try to digest. V.

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  2. I used to like silence and solitude, but that was due to shyness and that is a burden. Now I can be open and I like talking to people, different people - sometimes you share a window into their lives through a brief conversation in a chance encounter. However, I think you can gain from quietness and self-reliance too. V.

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  3. I completely relate to this post. My commute, especially on the tube, is the time when I am silent and invisible and, bizarrely, it energises me ( if it's not too crowded) for the day. And when standing and walking I try and regulate my breathing, stance and pace. That last bit only since I have been coming to your classes.

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