was that you?

So I stretched my body because I needed to stretch my heart, but it wouldn't give. It wouldn't fucking give, so I had to to ask yoga. I hit my mat and wished for deliverance. I wished for the sweet release of breath and movement and prayed my stingy heart would take note. Move blood, move bones, move breath, move body. Come on heart- open, receive, feel more than just the numbness. 

Is that you fear? Old friend, heavy hitter, most likely to succeed?  Did you invite doubt, hate and anxiety too? Is it a dinner party now in which you serve up painful memories and unhealed wounds? What is for dessert? Distrust topped with self loathing and hostility? Thought so. So what? What now? 

We dance.

I breathe. I let you in. I welcome you like a good hostess, dressed in my very best. I have been drinking wine. I have been praying. I have been trying. You show up and I act like the good little girl, the dutiful wife, the committed concubine I am. I let you in.

We dance. 

We sway and for the first time, I lead. I direct the movement. I breathe in and I breath out and you disappear. I am left empty but not gutted. Alone but not lonely. You leave and I am a soloist. My heart murmurs softly from within, "thank you." The sweet liberation from it's captor. Just an illusion, yet a very real threat. My heart emerges and fills me with song. Together we dance. Free. Has it not always been the point? Liberation through movement. Yoga was that you?