In yoga, we talk about the notion of ahimsa,
non-violence. And to me, that hits home when I am able to detach myself from
the inner monologue and become a simple observer. In those moments I tend to
detect the most violence I've had to endure. It is a battle waged against
myself. As a rule, I think, we cut deepest with those whom we love most.
Perhaps it’s because we know their weak spots or perhaps because we know
they'll love us unconditionally. Perhaps it’s because they are the closest
extension of ourselves. And like I said, the inner monologue is a place of
great violence. Filled with insecurities and confusion, the turmoil of regrets
and anticipations, the will versus the spirit. It can get downright ugly.
For me, ahimsa isn't something that happens on
the street. It happens in my own headspace. And the beauty, I believe, is that
when the violence stops inside, it seems to make the anger and judgment and
attitude and righteousness and indignation stop on the outside toward others.
If we can learn to gently accept the inner monologue, we can start to see the
whole world as a dialogue.
Ahimsa is a Sanskrit word. Corpus Christi is a
Latin phrase. Both are grounded in God. Jesus was the recipient of extreme
violence while living a life of ahimsa – He called it “love.” In Eucharist we
celebrate His body being broken for us through the breaking of the bread.
Perhaps this Corpus Christi we can also celebrate the breaking down of violence
both physically and in our own minds and see God’s pathway to ahimsa, to
non-violence, to acceptance, to love. Love both outward and inward.
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