Lately, I’ve been coming head to head with the human spirit. No, I’m not the millenial version of a ghostbuster.

I’ve been surrounded by stories that give me another glimpse of what it means to be human. Sometimes, I’m told these stories. Other times, they unfold before my eyes. And yet other times, I am part of the story.

The stories highlight for me the nature of the human spirit. It is mysterious and can never be fully known. It is most visible for me in the messy places of life, the places we would rather not show to strangers, or to the neighbor across the street. The places where are we find ourselves alone in the middle of the night, not peacefully asleep, but sweating and stiff with shallow breathing. It is tender and strong at the same time. Stronger than we can imagine and with a gentleness that can only come from compassion.  It is vulnerable, elusive, and yet in front of us to experience at every moment.

What I find so interesting is how often we purposely hide the human spirit. As if it were a vampire that could not stand up to the light of day.  Sanitize to mask. To mask what? To mask the rawness of deep sorrow, the humility of disappointing ourselves, the anger of knowing that we are only one individual, and not at all omnipotent. 

At the end of my yoga practice, I ask for several things. One of those things is grace. When I say the word grace in my head, I experience the feeling of two sides of the coin. And the humility to be compassionate for those whose stories I will never fully know. Grace returns me to the seed that we all come from. I trust that it will guide me in my daily life.

This is all to say that what we are resistant to show because the edges are torn, is exactly what needs to be shown.