A year ago today, the studio I taught at and made my yoga home for over a decade closed its doors temporarily due to covid-19. It was slated to be a two week closure, per the state guidelines, but my intuition told me different. Listening to my intuition, I did something I never thought I would, I posted a video of myself talking about the situation and the opportunities I thought it presented. Looking back at that video now, I can see how much of that wasn’t necessarily me talking but things coming through me. I can see how I knew in my heart and through my words that it wasn’t going to be two weeks. The first estimate I heard around that time was 18 months and I latched onto that for some reason and made it my framework. This was oddly a huge blessing, now that I look back on it, because it took away some of the illusions that could have created a deeper suffering than was already about to happen.

Before I go deeper into this reflection, I want to acknowledge that I am incredibly privileged to have the opportunity, time, space, and tools for deep reflection. I know that is not a universal experience in this moment or possibly ever for some. (Though I do believe it is something that we should prioritize as a people). This is my personal reflection on the past twelve months and in sharing, it is always my intention that my words assist you in going deeper into your own inner journey.

If you’ve been following me for a bit, you might know that I write morning pages as many mornings as possible. On a good streak I do seven days a week, but that isn’t always possible, it ebbs and flows. Over the last year, I’d say I did no less than four days a week every week, with some weeks being seven days, some being five. I do this practice in the way that Julia Cameron of “The Artist’s Way,” fame teaches it, stream of consciousness, letting the pen glide over the paper, letting it all spill out, and generally three pages. The reason I mention this is because, I now have these pages as a reference point of exactly how I was feeling and thinking during the initial time last year and throughout the last twelve months.

This morning, as I was writing my morning pages, I realized it was the anniversary of the closure. Then the title of this post came through – “The 12 Veils.” At first I didn’t know what this meant so I teased it out in some of my pages. I thought about it, I let it flow out. I can see now, they signify stages of initiation for me personally. (And interestingly they also coincide with the astrological monthly energies of the zodiac signs.)

Some of these veils were shadows in the sense that they were unconscious ways my life was running me instead of me running my life. Others were things I needed to overcome and integrate. And still others were things I needed to shed into order to see anew beyond the veil as it were.

I’ve mapped these veils below. I thought about going into each one in depth (and I might at some point), but then I’d be here for thousands of words longer than I intend to write right now.

March 2020 – The Veil of Burnout

April 2020 – The Veil of Growth

May 2020 – The Veil of Creativity

June 2020 – The Veil of Confusion

July 2020 – The Veil of Grief

August 2020 – The Veil of Hiding

September 2020 – The Veil of Shedding

October 2020 – The Veil of New Skin

November 2020 – The Veil of How Many Skins Can I Shed

December 2020 – The Veil of Pain

January 2021 – The Veil of Strife

February 2021 – The Veil of Boundaries

March 2021 – The Swaddle of Acceptance

As a practice, I invite you to do your own mapping of your year. Maybe it’s similar to this, or maybe it’s a journal entry on each month, or simply one word for each month. Or maybe it is something else.

I mapped it this way for a specific reason, each veil so to speak was something I had to work with each month, though the veil and its work didn’t end with just one month. These are all themes I continue to work with and will. In our world of polarity, we are always learning through contrast, through compassion, through action and non-action, and these themes have been the same for me.

These layers of initiation have been deeper and more profound than any of my previous ones, but that’s just how it works, expand, contract, expand again, contract double time, expand even more. This is how we grow, this is how we learn, this is how we build and create what is right for us and how we want to live in the world. We always have a choice as to how we work with our adversities, expand, contract, or love. Love is the in between, it’s where we don’t just view something as good or bad absolutely. It is the place where we can find compassion for all that is, and all we are. We are all capable of all emotions, all things and all actions, given the right circumstances. The moment we push against that reality is when we suffer. You don’t have to like everything or everybody, but there is a peace to be found in the knowing that we are human, we have all the human faults, all the extraordinary bits of being human, and it is all encompassed in our suit of cells. We are all of it. And when we can know that in a deeply embodied way, we can meet each moment. We can meet each moment from a place of love and compassion; the really easy moments and the really hard ones, even if before that love and compassion there is rage and pain. It’s all useful. This is the practice of our lives, and this is the initiation of the last year and the years to come. When everything you know changes, when the doors of all of our lives come off, who are you, who do you want to be, and how will you meet each moment?

This is not a philosophical or solely mental exercise (though part of it is). It is an invitation to integrate your experiences into your life. To digest them, to metabolize them. Whether that is through the physical body, through your energy, through action, through the emotions, wisdom, your work in the world, etc, you decide how to integrate it. You decide for you. Bringing the wisdom of your own experiences and integrations into all you do, not only helps you grow and discern, it does the same for all around you through modeling, example, and energy.

I could never catalog all I have learned in these past 12 months, and I’m not even sure I know everything I have learned yet, it’s still integrating. But I still find value in the reflection, in the re-reading of my morning pages from a year ago to see what I was saying, thinking, and feeling before my brain put it in a memory cavern with judgements and other ideas. The morning pages are always a way for me to remove a veil, and having that record of who I was in those moments, and seeing how I am now, is encouragement for me to keep going, keep practicing, and keep living the moments as I learn.

Some may not want to recognize this anniversary, and that’s ok. But I think things and times like this should be commemorated, honored, celebrated, and recognized for their power. No matter if that power is in the polarity of really good or really bad. Being able to recognize both and sit in the middle space of balance is a practice. I believe we have to celebrate and mourn with equal measure, who we were, who we have become, and who we are becoming.

For reflection –

Who were you one year ago?

Who are you now?

Have you noticed particular veils or shadows of your own initiation?

Do you resist reflection? If so, why?

How did you frame your life a year ago? How do you frame it now?

If you had to discern just one lesson about yourself from the past year, what would it be? It can be anything.

What is one thing you are holding onto that needs to be released?

How can you show more compassion for yourself, your family, your friends, and your community right now?