Namaste

My mind unfolds completely. My inaugural walk through the village with Bailey since my badly sprained ligaments benched me last month. No longer on hiatus. Total immersion. I float refreshed. Lost in the movement of placing one foot in front of the other. The familiar rhythm. My pace quickens. Adding an extra mile. Just because.

It has been forever. If forever is measured in days. Thirty-one days. And sometimes it is. Know you know what I mean.

It feels good. Being in the zone. And by zone I am not referring to the twilight one where I have been residing uneasily since my return in March from Oz 's Emerald City on the other coast. Yep. There they go. The lions, tigers and bears. Oh my. Noxious gasses ooze from the tips of my well-worn New Balance sneakers. I feel lighter, more graceful already.

But hey what gives? Is my right knee emitting a few sharp reminder pangs? Nope. Ignore it. Don't succumb. Motor through it. Persevere. They'll vanish. Step it up a notch. I'll pop two tiny blue Aleves when I get home. Not gonna let this curtail a thing. Not when I am getting back in the groove.

Zap. Oh no. Gone is the fluid dynamics of a few moments ago. Phooey. I am perplexed. And I hate confusion. Hate it. Need to come up with an alternative. Must regain mental focus. C'mon think, Alice. Think. Gotta incorporate a way to get out of my head. Let the calm wash over me. Gheesh. Here goes that strategic mind of mine. Crowding out the quietude. Scrolling through the options. What would I do? What could I do? What should I do? Damn.

I know. I know. Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda. I don't even realize I am make the sign of a cross with Baileys leash and my right hand waving frantically to ward off the evils of remorse. I am mumbling out loud now. Just under my breath. But noticeable. Bailey looks at me thinking I am saying treat. I am saying shit. Two teen age boys pass their heads spin around quickly afraid to stare at the crazy loon with the dog. The Wicked Witch of the East muttering x-rated expletives. They pedal as fast as their skinny legs will allow. Don't look back. Don't look back.

Who the hell cares what they think? I need to figure this out. Now. Begone demons lurking at the surface threatening my dreams. Dissipate you terrors wreaking havoc with my confidence. Take this. Whoosh them away, gnarly broom. Send them out into the ether world swirling. The boys are rounding the corner. Not turning their heads. I brandish a two foot stick like Zorro. Hobbling back to my house at a snail's pace.

I must find the release valve. Work out the kinks crippling my ability to move forward ... literally and figuratively. Reclaim my inner calm. Guide and re-center this journey of mine into the next chapter. Get back in touch with my long-put-away-on-the-top-shelf-of-the-closet serenity.

I halt and look up. There above Salon 96 where darling Cheryl keeps my tresses looking oh so chic is the answer. The Nataraja School of Yoga. I have passed this a bazillion times. But here it is shining effervescently. Nataraja. The cosmic dancer who performs his divine dance to destroy a weary universe and make preparations for the Hindi god Brahma to start the process of creation. God knows I am weary from the negativity of the last few weeks.

My pulse relaxes. This is it. Gentle yoga classes are offered Mondays. I can start next week.

Namaste.