Crack Your Heart Wide Open

KINDMEN ⚤ (6m read)

Special recognition and appreciation to my beloved yoginis: Nikita Mehta, Kinjal Shah and Mariana Klober. It is through your presence, your practice, and your open hearts that I’ve unearthed truths too deep to be taught, only felt.

The yoga studio was bustling that evening, yet the space felt calm and secluded—dimly lit, with soft rays of sunlight piercing through the curtains. From the back of the room, the view was mesmerizing: the room undulated in harmony, bodies moving to a serene blend of world, ambient, and new age soundscapes. Vinyasa was not new to me, but for some reason, this time felt different.

I felt tired, tense, my body stiff with the residue of the day intermingled with the earthy aroma of Palo Santo.

As I bent backward into camel pose, easing into the dull ache in my hips and spine, I reached back to grab my ankles. My arms extended, lifting my stiff chest to the sky, ribs spreading open like the petals of a blooming flower. My feet and legs sank into the mat, grounding me deeply into the earth beneath. A soft involuntary tremble took hold of my arms and lower back. I felt fear, that if I let go of the rigidity, my back would give out and break. Until I heard my yogini say, “Crack your heart wide open.”

Hearing this, I took a deep inhale, and on the release, slowly stopped straining and surrendered my body. I stopped forcing and let go. My eyes closed as my head fell backward, a sudden pop exploded from my chest, splitting me in two.

In that rupture, I felt an upwelling of energy rise from my core. Tears began to flow freely toward my scalp, disappearing into my hairline as my head, upside down, staring into the darkness at the back of the room.

Feel the Heartbreak by Jenny Hahn

A Blocked Chakra

I’ve struggled my entire life to access and express my feelings and underlying emotions. Every attempt at emotional growth has been incremental—which in an instant gratification society, feels like no progress at all. Over the years, I’ve taken acting classes, answered the question “How does that make you feel?” with different therapists, raided the most popular self-help books, Eat Pray Loved, and more… yet I failed to fully emote. It felt as if my heart were encased in cement.

I remember, a few years ago, standing in a large hall in Honolulu. The sweet fragrance of lei flowers, carried by the warm, humid air, drifted across the space as a reverent, hushed mood settled over the family and friends gathered for my grandfather’s funeral. One by one, unfamiliar faces in floral Hawaiian shirts and muumuus stepped into the hall, paying their respects. I felt ashamed that I could not shed a single tear for my Tūtū Kāne—Hawaiian for grandfather—who had just passed after a decade-long battle with dementia.

I saw my grandmother from a distance, weeping inconsolably, though she had visited him in the hospital every day for ten years. He had been largely unresponsive throughout that time. I couldn’t help but wonder—how could she cry so deeply, while I struggled to feel anything at all?

A flood of childhood memories rushed through my mind: the trips to Ala Moana beach with my grandfather, shave ice at Kay’s Crackseed after surfing, calling me “chicken neck” in his growly raspy voice before hugging me, the day he took my brother and me to the barber to have our long hippy hair shaved off without warning. And still, I felt nothing.

I knew that there was something not quite right with me. I didn’t want to admit that I should feel sorrowful. I wanted to feel that my grandfather meant something to me—that I could express my appreciation for all the wonderful moments he enriched my life with as a child. I wanted to feel the aloha I knew was buried somewhere inside me.

That moment haunted me for years. These days, the thought of returning to Hawaii feels empty without my Grandfather there. Still, there’s comfort in knowing that both Tūtūs rest together at Punchbowl, side by side, watching over the shimmering skyline of Honolulu for all time.

Punchbowl Memorial Park

Anahata

Not long ago, I stepped more fully into my yoga practice, and among the rituals, there’s a mantra, echoed by the more shamanic yogis, that seems to hum in perfect harmony with something deep inside me. Coupled with poses like Cobra, Camel, Bridge, Locust, and Wheel… I love it when my yogi says:

If I’m feeling attuned, connected, and safe during a class session, I instantly feel a surge of emotional energy ripple forward from my fourth chakra—also known as the heart chakra, or in Sanskrit, anahata¹. I savor the sound of my breast breaking, tearing, as if laboring to birth something sacred from within—waiting with anticipation to see what unique hues are unleashed. Depending on what I’m dealing with—both consciously and unconsciously in that moment—a rainbow of technicolor waves bursts forth.

Occasionally, I catch myself tearing up, and I’ve long since let go of being afraid of others witnessing my vulnerability. In the sacred container of my yoga community, held by the grace of skilled and compassionate guides, I’m free to let my emotions flow, without filter or fear.

I crave those moments when I’m cracked open—scared, yes, but brave enough to let something raw and sacred rise from within. I don’t fight it anymore. I don’t bury it. And when I let it move through me, there’s this wild, electric relief. For a breath, I feel fully alive, fully me. No words come close to that release.

I feel everything at once—the sacred, the ache, the connection that binds it all. My grandfather’s aloha. The burden of never having told my grandfather “I love you.” The lovers who slipped away. Friendships that shattered. The unbearable weight of my own shame. And still, there’s joy. There’s now. There’s the beauty and heartbreak of knowing that everything I love including myself will soon be gone forever.

In that fleeting moment, I am brought back home—to live life as if it were a sacred journey. Letting awe wash over my work, my dreams, and my connections. And love, especially love, as if each moment were your last chance to do so.

And just before I open my eyes, my mind relents to what my exposed heart already knows—divine love requires absolute truth: truth within, truth with others, and most importantly the courage to live in truth.

Namaste

So I’d love to hear from you. What does spirituality mean to you? How has spirituality helped you open your heart?

The Matrix

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References

¹2025, Everything You Need to Know About the Heart Chakra, Yoga Journal