I'm not putting myself on a pedestal, but I woke up the other morning with red marks in the center of both of my palms. I thought, Stig - freekin - mata!

Makes sense.

I know I have been suffering lately, but really, Jesus pulled the shorter straw in the long run.

I have turned said suffering into a wonderful yogic experience of letting go. Nothing, including being pulled over by the cops for running a stop sign I stopped at, bother's me. Although my mom would argue otherwise, I'm sure. She is the one that endured my annoyance after it happened. Normally I'd hang a little longer on this yucko occurrence, but alas, I'm finding it easier now to drop into my 'yoga' when things get shitty.

I notice that no matter how 'all over the place' my life seems and how overwhelmed I can get, it doesn't take as long for me to stop, drop and roll into a calmer place of stillness, breathe and be present. It used to take a lot longer...like days or weeks to get over something. Now...it rolls off. Ok, maybe after a convo with my mom and then it rolls off, but I can find that peace and yoga in moments after.

That's all the practice is for me.

I hate cops.

Just kidding.

No, I'm not.

I hate no one.

But really, the little things...even the not so little things that would normally be annoying, are not ruffling my crown of thorns.

My stigmata was caused by lifting weights without gloves. Damn Kesha, her tunes always get me to push a bit harder...right into my palms.

I am not Jesus, but we are all reflections of 'the Jesus' whether we believe in him or not...that which is higher than us. And maybe I just needed a cut in my hand to remind me that all those things that bother me now, won't in a few days, months and years and even though this is a rough patch, pretty smooth patches are right around the corner.

Loaves and fishes,

Lady