Elevation.
Once you finally make your way to a mountain top, you take that last step, exhale, slowdown the breath, put your backpack down, have a sip of water. As you drink, you turn around and take in the view. The base is far below. The sky is wide open and the clouds are greeting you hello.
From this point of gained elevation , you see it all. All the things you gladly leave behind and those you miss dearly. Those are down at the base. All the things you want to learn and are genuinely curious about. Those are in the sky and in the clouds. The things you thought were an integral part of you, but really aren’t. The extra layer of clothing you should have brought and the unnecessary heavy tool you carried.
Being away.
It’s you with a new dress that you hand stitched and tailored on your body. The dress that is not a designer piece but, it truly fits you. Mind you, this wasn’t a short affair. You’ve tried it on several times, you shortened it and made the hem longer. You added and removed. You continue to accessorize it and change it according to the seasons. You make it work. Some people think it doesn’t look good. That’s great. It means you are doing something right. You are wearing the dress and are ready to open the door and embrace whatever comes your way.
Now, you are out there, far. So far, you can hear the noise, feel the weight, see the shades and taste the sweet and sour flavor of distance. It’s all there, in how you eat and breathe, in how you walk and salute others. It’s in how you love and how you dance.
Distance is the world you drag along, the subtle tune you dance to, the invisible guest you argue with, everyday.
But you are here. Now, after all this time, what do you need to cultivate, grow, deepen, let go or let come to the surface? At some point, I am not sure when, your thoughts become, they happen, they manifest, they exist.
Writing.
In this process of inclusion and elimination, I’ve realized that writing is necessary to me, just like movement. Writing is, in itself a form of movement. Moving thoughts, emotions, fears, memories, crazy ideas, stories, real or imagined, from head to hand, from non verbal to verbal. Something thought becomes a thing told. There is more. Writing in a language that is foreign, represents me after the act of taking off the dress, the one I made for myself.
It’s my naked mind. Hungry and hunting.
Now it’s early morning and I start practicing yoga in my living room, family sound asleep.
I ate too much: lie down on the roll 5 to 8 breaths.
I need to feel my breath: Brahmari 7 chakras in easy seated pose.
I want to lengthen: straddle side bend and neck release.
I’m afraid of my weak core: abs with roll 8; frog lift thru 6
Legs wake up: bridge one leg up at a time.
I am craving movement: sun salutations
Stillness: dolphin.
I want to lift from the root: B series w/ variations:
- lunge knee down
twisting lunge
extended twisting lunge
2. I want to revisit a pose that I always struggle with.
warrior 1 arms in archer
ostrich
head to ankle. No struggle in my head. Long breaths.
I can be free: handstand
I love letting go. Opinions. Judgements. Unnecessary: Pigeon
Savasana
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