I regularly sit on the yoga mat at the front of the studio watching over a room full of people in corpse pose.
After all the beautiful work they do with the asana portion of class, I ask them to place one hand on their heart center, and to accept themselves unconditionally. I hold the space for this difficult work.
What does that mean? What did it take to get me to this yoga mat in the front of the room? The short answer is that my mom died, and as best I could, I helped her to do so. Of course there is a much longer answer...
Continue reading "A Beginning at Every End: The Year I Watched My Mother Die" on Elephant Journal, here.