Keys Without Locks Blog posting by Roger Fallecker

We lost Dad to cancer in 1995. When Mom passed away in December, 2010, I inherited the house they built shortly after they married and lived in for the rest of their lives - the home I grew up in.

I’ve spent countless hours moving from room to room, going through drawers, closets and boxes in an attempt to sort out what needed to be discarded and what needed to be passed to Goodwill.  I hate to throw away “perfectly good stuff”, which goes a long way toward explaining why this process is taking so long.

I did have one yard sale...epic fail.

Going from top dresser drawer to top dresser drawer to cigar box (Dad) to jewelry box (Mom), a common theme emerges: Mom and Dad saved keys - evidently EVERY key they ever had reason to own.

Most of the keys are old.  Brass and nickel keys worn smooth by use and time, steel keys, lightly coated with rust.  I hold these keys in my hand and move my fingers across them, wondering whose hands held them, and what valuables and secrets were they were tasked with protecting.

These were keys without locks.

Looking down at my hand, full of keys, it occurs to me that yoga is a key.  All of us are constrained in some way by locks in our lives.  Not hardware store locks, but emotional, physical, psychological or spiritual locks.  Some of us are fortunate or blessed enough be exposed to yoga.  Hopefully, in addition to loving our asana practice, we surrender to all eight limbs of yoga and allow them to unlock the potential to become who we are meant to be.

My first exposure to yoga was actually a non-exposure.  The yoga instructor at the gym I frequented invited me to one of her classes, held at the gym.  I politely thanked her, but said that my “schedule” really didn’t leave room for yoga classes.

Shortly, she moved on to better opportunities. Weeks later, another instructor came to the gym and offered “Power Flow Vinyasa Yoga”.  At the time, this sounded more to my liking, more physical.

I decided to check it out. “I’ll throw an hour at it”, I thought.

Sixty minutes later, I was hooked...addicted to yoga after my first practice!  I knew NOTHING about yoga, except that I wanted more. My mind and my body (perhaps for the first time ever...) were in complete agreement.

I began to ask questions, determined to find out more.  At this point, I went back to the instructor who first tried to introduce me to yoga, realizing that what she had done was “plant a seed”. She patiently answered questions, and recommended books.  In time, she became my principal instructor and my "yoga teacher trainer".

The decision to follow the path defined by the eight limbs of yoga requires a serious commitment.  Although I stumble frequently on that path, I remain committed.

Since that first class, (though a work in progress, with a long way to go) yoga has “rewired” me.  I see life from a different perspective. Where I once saw great differences, I now see commonalities.  I’ve discovered what a strong adversary my ego is as I struggle to overcome it.  I try to do good, while being detached from the outcome.  I’ve come to appreciate silence, and the sound of my breath.  I’m learning to accept what is, while relishing the freedom of living in the present moment.

As I finished that first yoga class, the key completed its mission, and the final tumbler moved aside. The lock opened and dropped away. A door swung open. Before me lay a path, a journey with a beginning, but with no end in sight. I stepped across the threshold, started down the path...and never looked back.

The door is open...care to join me?