Objects of war and peace.

Two days after the fall off the twitter wagon, I was at the London Modern Museum of Art.  It was fun loosing myself in the different exhibits but one called objects of war by Lamia Joreige had a great impact.  The artist compiled a series of interviews about life during the Lebanese war.  Each person interviewed spoke about an object that reminded them most of the war.  Some of the items displayed were a guitar, teddy bear, perfume flask, photograph, a child’s drawing, among other everyday items.  Their different accounts of the memories they shared both good and bad were carried in these objects.  Life is incredibly curious as there is always something that quickly renders me back to what is important and truly matters.   Divorce isn’t easy and yes it plainly out right sucks but I live an amazing life.  I am not in a war zone and I have the ability to live in a part of the world where I have an abundance of freedom.  While I recognize my plight is trivial comparatively, I started thinking about my object of divorce.  He is tied to all of the items I moved from what I thought was “our” life and into my new life except one, my yoga mat.  It was propped by the door, I used it almost everyday, it was in “our” space but he never touched it or moved it.  Everyday my practice was my time, every time I stepped on my mat it was for me, every breath and movement was mine.  Throughout that last year I  strayed from who I was and began morphing into some cross between June Cleaver and a Stepford Wife to connect with my husband, take care of his daughter and save my marriage.  My yoga mat is the object I took relief in during this last year, it is the one portion of my life that was mine.   Everything else was for him.  Everyday my mat has challenged me to push deeper and farther to continually elevate my mental and physical strength.  It supported me through those darkest of days.  As I bowed into my first sun salutation, my tears would cease and my mind stopped thinking about “them”, what “they” had done, what “he” had done to me.  Yep I cried right there in class, not very June Cleaver like but no one judged.  I cried for the first few weeks at class and my mat gave me a space to process, escape and just be.  It is my solace, my pursuit but not one that has to be hidden from family, friends, husband or step-daughter.  My passion and dedication is to something healthy and respectable.  I am extremely grateful that I had a pastime that allowed me to escape from the chaos of all the emotion, change and turmoil.  Most importantly through the recent months it has brought me to a place of acceptance.  To accept who I am, that I failed at marriage, that I no longer own my own home, that I don’t have my own children, that I don’t have a partner in life, that I am clearly not June Cleaver or a Stepford and have never baked a pie.  Through yoga I have reconciled and taken responsibility for my own faults as well as found compassion for myself on this journey.  My mat is my object of peace.