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?
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 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?