I am a fish. My tail dolphins its way forward and back to find center. I am being propelled through the space between poses. I am neutral. There is no objection. The feather and the fly and the sound of yesterday’s list, these are no stronger than my breath. They are no more steadfast than my balance. One foot is kissing the earth with gratitude and vulnerable indebtedness. The arms and the other foot count time like a clock with nothing to measure. They extend the radius around the center of my soul. Eyes feigning sleep stare at nothing but the sun.
The stroke of god’s unlimited credence sets my core on fire. Sweet salt drips from nose and breast. The kundalini is awakened when I meet him there. The slip into child’s pose lets climax collapse. My crown is inverted, third eye to the ground. The feather falls to rest beside the foot of the guru. The flood is receding. Big love shelters me from its brilliance. It is courting me with manageable morsels that I store safe behind my belly. Bliss’ secret refuge is there, pressed against my spine.
Emily Allison writes in her own raw and candid style. Her BA in writing from the University of Arizona shaped her craft in the early nineties. Her current blog, True for Now, is a one year commitment to her prose/poetry fusion. She is a veteran teacher of Rhetoric and Writing at the secondary level and focuses on inspiring the youth through language and self-expression. She tries to fill her time off with travel to further fuel her writing passion. Originally from the Bay Area in Northern California, her early inspirations were Beat poetry and The Grateful Dead. True for Now can be followed on both twitter and facebook.
hot on elephant
July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. A Letter to my Children: You do not come from a Broken Home. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD.