I love when I see people rush to yoga class. It's such a contradiction...
and yet.
all I'm doing is moving. I don't let myself catch a moment to be still.
Don't be still.
Cause that's where you find it...
all.
So I do, in the place that's home...
Sivasana,
where I move myself to a place of stillness.
And that's where I find him.
And that's where I find it all.
The answers and the peace and the love and the wholeness that I miss when I move to fast to see or feel...anything.
And I cry, quietly so no one sees.
And I remember the first few times I took yoga.
And I remember all the years after, practicing yoga and never getting back to that place where I was when I first started.
So new,
So fresh,
So vulnerable to all of the new experiences one feels when they begin to feel the love for it.
So long, it's been.
And here I am, like a beginner.
I'm beginning again.
A new person.
Same, but different, without him.
And I'm mourning, but I feel good.
I weep, but I feel strong.
I'm sad, but I'm so grateful that I feel.
So grateful that I can produce these feelings and let them come out safely.
I rush.
I rush to yoga.
Catch my breath, hold it, let it go, let it flow and feel it so deeply.
I remember.