The Pause

Learning to rest with what is

I have taught yoga for many years. At the end of class, we settle into a pose called savasana, literally translated as “corpse pose.” I know it sounds a little funny, but sometimes it takes a small death to my to-do list or my anxious avoidance in order to stop long enough to listen.

At the end of a yoga class, the pause allows time for the body to settle and the mind to assimilate what was practiced before moving on into the day. I watch people who aren’t used to this practice fidget and squirm. Then as they continue coming to class, they begin to settle into this pause. They begin to understand how important it is.

It’s a quiet place — a place to rest, a place to listen. Sometimes it’s an answer, sometimes it’s an affirmation, sometimes it’s just a holy quietness, like that moment when you’re having coffee with a friend and the conversations are over, but you sit still, enjoying the presence of the other.

I try to cultivate that pause in my life. It’s not always easy, but it’s important. I’ve learned that when I skip this pause, I often move too quickly, say yes too soon, or miss what my body is trying to tell me. But when I make space for stillness, I begin to hear the quiet wisdom that lives underneath the noise.

Most of you know I’m trying to sell my house. I’m ready to downsize, to let go of the responsibility of a stucco and mortar home and all its necessary upkeep. I’ve been waiting for quite a while for someone to love this place as I have loved it. You might think that waiting is just an extended pause, but that has not really been the case. Inside the waiting, it has been very hard to find internal stillness. My mind doesn’t want to sit in this interim place. It wants something else to focus on.

There are days when I find productive waiting—working on poetry or the Living Yoga course that will soon be available on the Soma Moon Wellness website. There are also days when I would prefer not to think about any of it—audio books, BritBox TV, crossword puzzles.

I have found that a few minutes of savasana help, especially before bed. In the quiet after movement, whether it’s intentional movement or anxious avoidance, rest isn’t the end of the work. It’s where the work settles in and becomes part of me.

And maybe that’s what waiting really is: not a holding pattern, but a practice in disguise. A long savasana for the soul. The place where we stop trying to make something happen, so that life can find its way to us.

What if the pauses in our lives—between jobs, between homes, between certainties—are where we’re meant to learn the art of being still?

Maybe the pause isn’t empty after all. Maybe it’s full of everything we need, if only we can be still long enough to listen.

Try your own version of savasana:

Settle into a comfortable position on your back.
Let your legs extend long, your feet fall open naturally.
Allow your arms to rest by your sides, palms turned upward.
Take a moment to adjust. Lift your shoulders, roll them underneath you, and soften the space around your neck.

Close your eyes.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
Let it go through your mouth.
One more time, inhale deeply and exhale fully, as if you are releasing the whole day from your body.

Now, allow your breath to return to a natural rhythm.
Feel the gentle rise and fall of your belly.
With each exhale, imagine your body sinking a little deeper into the mat (floor or bed).
Your shoulders soften. Your hips grow heavy. Your legs relax.

Let the thinking mind begin to quiet.
There is nothing you need to do. There is nowhere you need to go.
For these few moments, you are simply here,
held by the earth, supported by your breath, completely safe to rest.

If thoughts come, let them drift by like clouds.
If you notice yourself planning or remembering,
gently return to the simple rhythm of breath and body.
Feel the stillness underneath everything.

In this quiet space, the work of your practice settles in.
Your muscles remember. The nervous system softens.
Your mind begins to listen.

Rest here for a few more breaths.
Allow yourself to fully sink into the support beneath you.

I think savasana keeps teaching me what it means to live with an open hand. To release what I can no longer hold, to rest in the spaces that feel uncertain, to trust that stillness has its own kind of movement. This is the deeper work of yoga, the practice that extends beyond the mat. learning to let life unfold without rushing it, to rest long enough for what naturally comes next.

Perhaps this is the invitation of every pause, to remember that I am held, even when nothing seems to be moving. In stillness, something sacred is always at work.