I want to discuss how yoga, and mindfulness practices like Yoga Nidra can help us appreciate our own beautiful brokenness.
I have a really weird quirk: I Love Mannequins.
That’s actually not true. More precisely, I love broken mannequins.
I love to window shop (interestingly, the French word for window shopping translates as “window licking”—delightful!), less to see the wares the mannequins are displaying and more for the rare chance to find a “flawed” mannequin, one with a chipped nose, a cracked crown, or perhaps missing a hand or foot.
I’ve taken the liberty of making a small exposé of some of my favorite broken mannequins, pictures I've taken and some I’ve found online. Take a look.
This mannequin looks pretty snappy despite the fact that fashion sense is stuck somewhere in the 90s … as is apparently his left hand.
Difficult to see through the glare but in this hipster model and his buddy behind him must enjoy slam dancing as marked by the broken wrist and fractured heads.
I would actually wear this shirt and I appreciate the solid tape-job on the wrist. His knuckles look like he’s had a few scuffles with other mannequins.
This mannequin looks the way I felt after my first marathon which is in amazing health, other than the inconsequential ailments that require him to use 2 different knee supports, 2 canes, lumbar support, and an adult diaper. Note the optional ankle boot and compression socks.
I think this mannequin is dressed to show up to his bowling team’s annual swim party despite the his broken femur, neck, and lower back. I respect his dedication and that that despite these injuries he seems to be able to work out quite regularly. Look at that 6-pack!
From what I can deduce this mannequin must have been showing off his new boxer briefs while rollerblading and took a fall thus twisting one ankle causing him to fall, landing on the opposite knee and wrist. Still looks great in his briefs, though.
This mannequin is very chic except … she forgot her bottoms somewhere on the beach. Ooops! In Europe beachwear usually suggests an optional top but whatever makes you feel free.
I think I love this one the best. She has an expression that says, I know that I’m both broken and perfect just as I am.
This guy has certainly seen better days but despite his cracks, I appreciate how he’s looking me straight in the eyes as if to say, “You know, this is just what it looks like when you’ve taken a few falls. It’s ok. I’m moving forward.”
This guy’s Freda Kahlo interpretation using the muck from a clogged drain is very admirable. I also respect his variable hairline which doesn’t look like a receding hairline but rather a choice of haircut. His left ear indicates he might be an elf from Lord of The Rings. Legolas?
Why this fetish for broken mannequins? It’s because I can relate to them. First of all, I relate because when I co-owned my two yoga studios (R.I.P., god bless), we owned several mannequins displaying all those yoga clothes we trying to sell and I gotta level with you— mannequins are expensive AF and for some completely mind-boggling reason (probably known as gravity) they were astoundingly difficult to simply keep upright and a broken mannequin costs hundreds of dollars to replace. Clearly, they needed to work on their balance. Maybe their chakras were misaligned ….
But the real reason I can relate to broken mannequins is because they are intended to model human beings and let’s face it, we are all beautifully broken. By broken I mean, we are all imperfect in body, mind, and spirit. It’s true.
I want to insert here the idea that a more modern form of window shopping exists as social media. The countless images parading in front of our eyes, all driven by some mysterious algorithm, are digital mannequins and tend to make us feel as though everyone else’s lives are perfect. It’s human nature to compare our ordinary lives to these curated, rare, and selected images.
When I see mannequins (whether the plastic kind or social media kind) who look so pristine, so perfect, so goddamn put together, it feels like false advertising. I love the broken ones. They feel more real, more human. When I see a broken mannequin it feels like I’m witnessing that magical moment when Pinocchio becomes a real boy.
Artist: Tess Jones-White tessalain@wixsite.com
Can you relate to this in any way?
I mean, the fact that we are all beautifully broken is so clear, so obvious, such a normal part of the human experience that it kinda makes me think that this is how we are designed. I think we are supposed to be broken.
In fact, some cultures and religious traditions actually embrace this brokenness. In Hinduism there’s a goddess who is dedicated completely to this idea of sacred brokenness. Her name is Akilandeshvari which translates to “She Who Is Never NOT Broken.” I love Aki-(cover my mouth and slur the rest cuz it’s hard to pronounce) because being a mess IS her superpower. She reminds us that we all possess that superpower.
I was tossing around this idea with one of my friends and students attending one of my recent retreats to Italy and she showed me a painting that her niece painted for her celebrating this idea. Here’s a picture of the painting, shared with her permission.
So, why is your brokenness your superpower? Well, in my opinion, it’s because brokenness facilitates some of those essential catalysts for waking up to what matters most in life and discovering who we truly are. These include but aren’t limited to: humility, gratitude, presence, love, hope, compassion, a willingness to learn, a willingness to grow, and a willingness to appreciate life just as it is.
Can you name others?
Sure, in theory we can practice these catalysts for waking up without being broken but don’t you think that sometimes in life we can become anesthetized by “easy” and isn’t it human nature to also stop appreciating the beauties and miracles of every-day living when they are handed to you? So, since we all seem to be broken by design, perhaps we can learn to appreciate this universal teacher, if nothing else, as an immutable force that helps us to practice pay attention.
Learning to simply welcome, recognize, and witness our brokenness is perhaps a healing in itself.
I think this is because doing so helps us sidestep those two infamous impediments of our conscious evolution: attachment and aversion. Being fixated on how we think things ought to be rather than how they are, only adds insult to injury, bitterness to our brokenness.
But when we can learn to accept our brokenness—and by extension everybody else’s brokenness—the irony is that we actually place ourselves into the current of conscious change. We loosen our grip of control (which, let’s face it, is an illusion to start with), and allow that force which is larger than us, but of which we are all a part, call it what you will, to carry us further down our path of personal, conscious, and spiritual growth.
The result is waking up to the beauty of your life just as it is. Maybe this is what it means to wake up. Perhaps this is illumination.
The late, great poet, singer/songwriter, part-time monk, full-time bad-ass, Leonard Cohen sums it up best in these lyrics from his song, Anthem:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything …
That’s how the light gets in
Even the rhyme is broken! It doesn’t get better than this, my friend!
He’s saying stop trying to be perfect because everything is supposed to be broken and that it’s actually through our brokenness that we find the light.
He’s saying that we find the light not despite our brokenness, but precisely because of it.
So next time you are “window licking” (either digitally or through a real window) and you happen to notice a mannequin with a chipped brow, a cracked lip, or missing a few digits, I hope you can appreciate it on a deeper level and recognize a wholeness which cannot be quantified by whether or not it appears to have its shit together. And I hope that from behind the glass, you can hear the broken mannequin whispering to you that you also belong to the enormous tribe of the unfailingly broken yet unfailingly complete.
May we all acknowledge and celebrate our own beautiful brokenness. Likewise, may we acknowledge and celebrate the beautiful brokenness within each other, and may we do so with grace and compassion. May we allow these cracks within all of us to be the universal windows that open our hearts, brighten our world, and wake us up to see the light.
Namaste,
