The sun is hiding but I know it’s there.
I need to do a little at-home yoga practice. I’m sore. My body aches.
This cold, damp weather makes me feel like I’m in my 90s. My emotions make me feel like I’m two.
It’s a vicious cycle—taking care of everyone else. Even the cat gets more attention than I do.
I usually prefer it that way, but like last night, sometimes I want to scream, “Where the hell is the goddamn dinner fairy? I’m hungry!”
I am hungry.
It’s an emotional, spiritual, physical, complicated hunger for stability. I want to be taken care of too, damn it!
My inner two-year-old tyrant self of, I’ll do it myself, says, “Fuck this shit! Do it for me!”
Just this one time…okay maybe twice…hold my hand and let me know it’ll be okay.
So I spread out my green mat before the fireplace. I stretch into my cat and then into my cow. My breathing doesn’t flow—it gets stuck until I stop thinking and go with the movements. I stretch back into child’s pose and linger there a bit longer than I should.
It feels good—warm and safe.
Maybe, just maybe, shoulds, cannots and musts can slip away…
My yoga session continues with a series of moves that feel okay for me right now.
It’s nothing huge. No fanfare.
I gently rebalance my off-kilter stance. I close my eyes to see. My hips reflect my inner turmoil: right hip up and twisted in and the left swings back.
I’m shaped like an S—lovely as a glyph but not so lovely for a human vessel.
I listen and breathe to my heartbeat.
I continue to drop into a space of self-care and self-respect. I am listening to what I need in this short pocket of time that I carved out for me.
I let go of feeling guilt. I let the laundry remain in a heap. I hear the drone of the dryer and the rinse of the dishwasher. The birds are chirping outside. The sun is hiding but I know it’s there.
Next I listen to the mantra of Ganesh.
I was reminded recently that he doesn’t take away the obstacles—he brings them to our awareness—what we need to hear, see and work on.
Reflections, thoughts and insights flood over me.
Sometimes the tears flow freely and gently, and my heart melts once again.
Sometimes I sit in awe and silence. The chant is in my pores and courses through me. Other times my mind wanders and it’s hard to focus. I’m a muddy puddle and my heart can’t swim to the surface.
Today, I remain perched in front of my fireplace, grounded to the earth, and I know I’m being taken care of.
For in this very moment, that’s all we have. It’s going to be okay.
Assistant Ed: Stephanie V./ Ed: Lynn Hasselberger
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