I’m reading a book called The Poetry of Yoga, which is about the practice of yoga as reinvention or self-knowledge or philosophy—you know, the weird liminal, subjective things I like. Yoga, like gardening, is one of those things I do for the sideways benefits.
In the book he says, “Falling is what’s always happening. To hold a yoga pose is not possible; it’s a sensuous dance, moment by moment. And rigidity is simply the illusion that we can create a world in which we are not falling.”
Isn’t that interesting?
To change the subject a tiny bit, the robotic scientists working on making humanoid robots that walk like people do are stymied. Apparently, the way that people walk is so complex, they haven’t been able to duplicate it with a program. One of the scientists explained, (I’m paraphrasing) “There are dozens of points in the stride where if the feet and legs and body aren’t held just so, you fall. If any one of those aspects are wrong, you fall. You’re falling all the time, you just don’t know it, because you know how to compensate.”
Because when you think about it, we are always falling. Not just physically. I mean, psychologically. Spiritually. And almost any other -ally you can name.
Control is an illusion. But we’ve found ways to compensate.
We grow systems. We learn to be flexible. We learn to focus on our locus of control, and not worry about the things we can’t help. We expand our skillsets, and embrace the knowledge of our strengths and weaknesses— all so instinctively that we don’t realize we’re always falling.
So when you do have the stark realization that you’re falling, you can remember. You were falling all along. We call that living. And you’re doing just fine.