Wednesday, November 15

sweat

yoga this morning

each move, each posture compelling the sweat from my pores - the power of bikram compels you, wet demon (except now, instead of Father Marion, I've got Martha Stewart buddahism).
i will my body to cry it's salty tears; my eyes are dry. mostly.

i imagine that out of my blood, my skin, my bones, the poisons will be extracted and left inconsequent on my limp towel - all traces of alcohol, nicotine, caffeine; all those memories of you lying hidden in my marrow, my cells, my stomach slowly drawn out with each breath

- breathe in, lift your arms, bend forward, stretching out your back -

the converted office with soft lighting and wall-to-wall mirrors is an office still. it is not a stretch for the hungry mind to savour the memories that come to me today. a smaller room of course but an office still - emerald green mats for grey, stark flourescent light for soft yellow light, real humidity for imitation

- second set, breathe in, lift your arms, bend forward, keeping your head up -

my whole body is still full of you. patience

- release, breathe out -

let go. i don't resist the memories any more. instead i welcome each one, turning it around in my mind's eye and inspecting it from each angle. a mother to a child not seen for years. what changes are there? none. they are still as they are, only not anymore. and no longer mine.

- come up, breathe in, lift your arms, turn to the side, begin -

i feel my muscles pull and twist, catch and ease into the mat. i am off balance today. my eagle is wobbly and the bird lopsided

- into savassana -

the corpse pose.

if this was then and the carpets emerald green and the lights flourescent and white white, i would leave here by a heavy metal door, find my slippers amongst the pile and head downstairs into the busy morning outside. the incense from the temple next to the scooters and the stench of chicken shit from the garden opposite would catch my nose. up on my scooter, the rush of morning air only vaguely cool and heavy with exhaust fumes already, brings me to our metal door and you still sleeping

- get ready for a slow sit up, inhale as you come up -

now, i leave the soft light and the grey carpets to go out into the city alone. out on the sidewalk smokers stand crosslegged, on the street taxis fly past. now i have my car to drive away in and the crisp atlantic ocean to blow my mind clear

- namaste

6 comments:

Adam said...

Wow! Wow! Wow! I luuuve this post. It is amazingly well written. Almost poem-like.

You also yoga. I steer clear of bikram, for now.

I think we were twins in a previous life...

dorothy said...

:) thanks
i'm starting to think so to (about the twins bit)
was skeptical of bikram - but it's pretty cool, enjoy the sweating, feel really energised after (like normal yoga, except now you look as though you spent 3 hours jogging)

Sparky said...

I get the same out of my tai chi.

Do Kwang said...

Very cool post

Lammervanger said...

Good post Dorothy. I wanted to sound more original...

DT said...

OOh Wow! I am really loving your blog! That is beautifully written!!