"There is the Whole World..."

"...at your feet."

Hi, and welcome. I record my own voiceovers. It gives you my voice delivering the words I write. At the end, I always play a snippet of a song that spoke to me while writing the piece. The song is linked at the end of every post.

xo - Jeannie Lynn

As I write this, I am sitting in a friend’s apartment for a little while to give her cat some company while she is out of town. This cat might know how much I want her to warm up to me. She is currently under the bed. Or she might be hiding behind the shower curtain. I don’t want to go look because then she’ll know I’m looking for her. I brought my laptop to sit and write for a little while because I had a feeling this might happen. I put on some music. I will lure this cat in with my loving vibes if it takes all afternoon. Well, I can give it until I need to leave for a yoga class I’m teaching later.

As I sit here at the table, I was admiring my friend’s artwork on the wall. There is one canvas painted with the words: There is the whole world at your feet.

Those words feel so fitting for today.

It is a common occurrence for me and probably everyone else to go through phases of feeling restless and disillusioned with life. This feeling can sometimes be summed up in the question: Is this it? I can’t help that I feel it sometimes. I can’t help it, so I accept it. And guess what? I felt it last night. I felt it this morning. And this afternoon, I don’t have the question or the feeling anymore. That’s the funny thing about feelings- they’re temporary. This afternoon, the feeling transformed into words in my friend’s painting.

There is the whole world at your feet.

So what changed and when?

Well, I went to sleep last night. It was either that or keep spinning in a web of tired thoughts in my brain. They were the type of thoughts that aren’t doing anything productive or compassionate. They are just there to spin me harder on the mental merry-go-round.

Then, this morning, I got out of bed. It was either that or lay there while the merry-go-round trolls start turning me again.

Then I did other things I always do. I walked downstairs while the cat pretended we were racing, and she beat me to the bottom. She always beats me. I opened the curtains in the windows by the front door. I noticed the sunlight coming in and how the glimmer looked pretty on the floor. The cats moved into the new sun spot that appeared on the floor, and it made me smile. They love sun spots.

Then I remembered it’s still the weekend, so they get another can of the special wet food. I cracked it open and they came trotting over with the happy meows. It made me happy to make them happy.

While they enjoyed their breakfast, I started the water on the kettle for some pour over coffee. I rolled out my yoga mat while the water heated up. My yoga mat weighed about 100 pounds in that moment. I am still moving through resistance to healthy habits I’m trying to establish. I know from a little experience now to bring some movement into my spine and stretch it long before a few minutes of quiet meditation in the morning. I’m learning a little bit about the medulla oblongata. So far, I know it is essentially a signal center between the spine and the brain. I think I heard someone say it’s one of the only places, or maybe the only place, that a surgeon can’t touch. I should ask my friend Jay who is a pediatric neurosurgeon. He comes to the yoga studio where I teach. I am actually reading his book called All That Moves Us. It is an incredible series of stories so far. He has a great balance between objectively describing the details of the procedures he performs (wow) as well as emotionally connecting with the families and their kids for whom he gives his everything to save. Jay, I might tell you I mentioned this the next time I see you at Shakti. I might not. If you’re ever reading this- you are an incredible and determined soul. Thank you for sharing everything you did in this book.

Okay, back to the medulla oblongata, our own built-in radio antenna to the universe inside of us. I like to think of this center as a place that allows me to consciously receive signals during stillness. There are always signals firing between the brain, the spine, nerves, and ultimately the rest of the body. This connected system manages bodily processes like the heart beating, the breath moving, the blood pumping. I’m learning that the more quiet and still I become, the more I can be conscious of certain signals. As I allow time for my merry-go-round mind to slow down, it sends out a signal that I am ready to receive something, wherever that may come from. Or maybe it’s less receiving from somewhere else than it is realizing something that is already there, which I didn’t notice before. It can be a sensation, a color, an image behind the eyes, a phrase, or a whole vision altogether. In these times someone might even say they hear the voice of God. I can’t really tell you because each person eventually has their own, personal experience with it. If you’re a person who prays, then you are also a person who meditates. It is focused attention. It is calling on ourselves, our higher selves, ultimately something greater than ourselves because it goes beyond our physical body.

Photo by S. Widua on Unsplash

During my five minute mediation this morning I was given an image of a rickety, old bridge crossing over a canyon. This is not the first time I’ve had this vision. I looked to my left and saw many people crossing other better built bridges. Everyone was traveling quickly in both directions on them, on foot and by car. Those bridges were secure, sturdy, and smooth. There were so many people crossing back and forth over and over and over. Where were they going? Do they know they’re going in circles? Does nobody see this bridge over here? I looked back it and can understand why it might not be the most popular choice of bridge. It was made up of fraying rope and wood.

I am called to this new, old bridge for some reason.

That’s all I was given, and I opened my eyes. I smiled. I got up and finished preparing my coffee. I sat down on the couch with my hot mug and felt refreshed as I took the first sip. I looked out the window and decided I wanted to be outside today.

I took that idea to my husband Dominick, and I could tell he was on board.

We picked up donuts from Publix. I got a stupid pumpkin foam cold brew drink from Starbucks, and it was also stupid how good it tasted.

We took the slow walk up the hill at Fort Negley. I enjoyed reading the signs and learning about the history of this fort on a hill in the middle of Nashville. We enjoyed the view of downtown at the top as well as the rest of the 360 degree view. I imagined growing wings and flying to our house. There were many different colored butterflies along the way. I have noticed so many more butterflies this summer. Is it just because I’m more aware? Or does it mean something? There were also goats, and they were enjoying the shade. One was rubbing its back on a fallen tree branch, just moving his itchy back forward and backwards. I wished I could help him scratch it, but there was a fence.

We had one more hour before dropping off Dominick at an ice hockey game he was reffing. As we drove over in that direction, we saw a game of field hockey happening on one of Vanderbilt’s fields. We spontaneously parked and went to watch. Dominick huffed and puffed trying to understand the rules of field hockey. I got a little restless and noticed the turf. It looked soft. I took off my shoes and socks and went to walk on it. There was an open area beyond the area of the game where I could do a little yoga. I was just messing around, not trying to do anything special. I went into a pose called wild thing and then transitioned into a similar one called flip dog. It is a back bend, pressing down through the bottoms of the feet and one palm into the ground. The other hand is reaching straight out and forward past the head. I’ve known the possibility in other people when they turn into a full wheel from that pose, grounding the second hand into the floor. I didn’t know it was possible in myself until today. I have been reaching forward and then “cactusing” my other lifted arm starting to reach for the full wheel, but never feeling like I was ready yet... until today.

I was slow. I was supported by soft ground. I had no specific outcome in mind. I was enjoying my Sunday. All of a sudden the sweet reward of hundreds of hours of repetitive practice came to visit me unannounced. I turned the wrist of my grounded hand and dropped the other hand down, landing in wheel. Joy bursted through my body, and I slowly lowered my back to the ground. I laid there. I smiled. I laughed. I whispered to the sky: YES.

I played show-and-tell with Dominick to distract him from his perplexity about the field hockey happening. I pressed record on my phone to have a video of it.

I left the turf field on cloud nine. It was time to bring Dom to the ice center where he was reffing. After dropping him off, I came here to my friend’s apartment to check on her cat. And here I sit, looking at this painting that says: There is the whole world at your feet.

I feel immense gratitude that my tone has shifted away from a defeated, discouraged question of: Is this it? Is this all there is to life?

Now my tone is a quiet, resounding This is IT. This is life. I can go wherever I want.

I can go down the stairs with my cat.

I can go to the window and open the curtains to let the sunlight in.

I can go to the kitchen counter to start some coffee.

I can go to the floor with my yoga mat and have some morning stretches.

I can go to meditation to imagine, breathe, envision, pray, breathe, hope, let go, anything.

I can go to the store and get donuts.

I can go walking on a new path to enjoy a new view.

I can go to a random field hockey game to find out I can do yet another yoga pose I thought would be impossible for me.

I can go to my friend’s apartment after saying yes to help her with her cat.

I can go to the whole world every day.

It starts at my own two feet.

“Blackbird” by The Beatles

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Jessica’s painting