Shattered

“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all the darkness.”

 ~ Desmond Tutu

My husband had a fancy water bottle that he would take with him everywhere. He drank from it at work and after his workouts, and he refilled it from the tap, and often kept it in his car throughout the day. The bottle itself was made of heavy glass with just a small opening to drink from. The breakable vessel was encased in a rubber membrane that offered some damage protection and made it easier to grip. The membrane fit snug, like new skin, and together the glass and the rubber shell were a good design that kept the contents of the bottle pure and nourishing. He would rinse the bottle out at the end of each day, then fill it with fresh water and set it in the refrigerator overnight.

One day, he had an idea. He would enjoy the water more if it stayed cold longer, so, he decided he would fill the bottle with water and place it in the freezer overnight. With the clarity of hindsight, he probably should have given more thought to his idea. Being from Iowa, a state with wildly fluctuating temperatures and veins of roads pitted and buckled from the constant expansion and contraction of moisture, he should have known better. A fellow Midwesterner, who knew of his intention, might have told him this was not a good idea. But he did it, without regard for the vessel, or its contents or the repercussions of his decision. He wanted something more, and he went for it.

That night he came home from work and told me the bottle had shattered. He had left it in his car, his frozen water in a glass bottle, where the molecules, all compacted with the cold, began to dance in the heat and then expand and move wildly about, until the force of their energy blew the walls of the container open. On the floor of his car, the rubber membrane remained. The shape of the container it once protected was still visible, but the bottle itself had splintered into hundreds of shards of biting glass. The contents of the union of rubber and glass had puddled on the floor mat and seeped into the dark spaces, to ferment and grow into something dirty and toxic. The rest evaporated into the heat of the day, as if it never existed at all.

There are times in our lives when we can relate to wanting more. We might observe the daily humming of familiarity and ordinariness, and feel we deserve not just humming, but a full aria with the accompaniment of an orchestra. But reaching “out there” can stifle what is “in here.” Too often, the road to our desiring leads to greater need and more wanting, and we find ourselves on a path of gaining “more,” but not in the way we intended. Anxiety, isolation, anger and longing; these too are a product of “more”. And what we have left behind, in the wake of our desiring, is suffering. Our own suffering and the anguish of those who intersected our path.

My yoga practice has never been more important to me than it has been in the last few months. It is my lifeline to healing and inner strength. Meditation is my anchor to peacefulness and clarity. Life is full of unexpected pleasures. Life also burdens us with devastating revelations. Joyfulness abounds and heartbreak happens. In the loving world, there is room for both. We revel in the good times, feeling whole and illuminated. But when the darkness descends and the entirety we once knew, lays broken and bare, it is hope that rights us and moves us forward. Hope for strength and courage. Hope for restoration. For it is from the seed of what once was, that a new garden may grow.

Laurie Kasperbauer, RYT 200, enjoys the spiritual and physical benefits of yoga practice and instructs both group and private classes. Laurie is also an active Florida realtor specializing in properties in Naples and Marco Island. She can be reached at Harborview Realty, 291 S. Collier Blvd., Marco Island, or by calling 712-210-3853.