TO DIE AND BE REBORN: THE TRANSFORMING POWER OF MY DAILY PRACTICES
"Dad, do you want me to take you to bed?" He nodded, my eyes already moist from silent tears. My father was dying right there, before my eyes, and my heart clenched in a vise from which I couldn't free myself for several months. I pushed his wheelchair toward his room and called my mother to help me get him into bed. His body had grown heavy, his earthly life abandoning him. I held him by his chest and laid him on the bed; his now heavy, lifeless arms encircled mine... In that last embrace, my father breathed his last.
Suddenly it seemed that the world around me had changed. Or so I thought. In reality, I was the one who felt empty, with no ground beneath my feet. Sleepless nights began, and an unstoppable agitation enveloped me.
"Your father was an elegant man until the very end," a dear friend told me. I started looking in the mirror, seeing myself with his same elegance; I searched for it in my clothes, in my hairstyles. It was hard for me to find myself without him. Who was I without my father alive? I never would have thought my bond with him was so strong, almost vital for me. I believed I had prepared myself, that his departure had been possible for years. And I thought that with his final leaving, I'd finally stop missing him, the way I had all my life...
Sadness consumed me.
Two months after his death, one day, I suddenly stopped, as occasionally happened, and began to cry. The man by my side at that time wasn't willing to be there for me with the gentleness I needed; he judged my grief as abnormal and stifled my need to experience it. This just added to our many differing views on life. I left his house that day, knowing I'd never go back. My father was already starting to guide me from above, helping me find the strength to make the most correct decisions.
My grief then became two-fold: two separations, two awakenings, and two acceptances of endings. I began to feel truly unwell. My heart crumbled under the weight of these two deaths, finding no way out. Sadness was stronger than my vital energy. I absolutely had to do something: my son needed my presence and my joy. The yoga studio I had just opened (a few days after his passing, I signed the lease for a space for yoga and natural therapies that I'd dreamed of finding for years; once again, a feather fell from the sky) revolved around me and demanded my full presence and energy.
I felt myself collapsing more each day, fully aware of it. So I decided to act. The intention was incredibly strong, as was the will to break free from that state.
I clung to my practices. Every morning at 5:30, I made the effort to get up and practice Ashtanga Yoga or Vinyasa, finishing with some Qi Gong exercises to rebalance my energy. After each practice, I felt like I was being reborn. Day after day, I felt my vital energy returning and, with it, the desire to emerge from that state.
This shift in my frequency led to the arrival of a wonderful coach who supported me through various sessions with her marvelous presence and comforting hugs.
I also added meditation to my daily routine, and peace began to fill my heart.
Insomnia still lingered, and for that, the antidote was a retreat at Plum Village. I slept deeply in the forest and practiced with a companion—an hour of yoga and an hour of meditation daily. Conscious walks and self-observation throughout the day brought me back to a mental calm that allowed me to resume sleeping. Once again, daily practices and mindfulness were the antidote to regaining balance.
The book 'My Daily Practices' is written with all my heart, so that you too can strengthen these precious tools and practice the internal arts, creating your healing sanctuary and your strength to face daily challenges. We die and are reborn multiple times in a single existence, but having your own daily routine of internal arts allows you to be reborn more quickly each time, and to shine brighter with greater inner peace.
Keep your Light alive by cultivating the seeds of harmony and full awareness every day to live in fullness.
