Chipping Away At The Peach Pit

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on the rise and fall of my chest. Inhale/expand. Exhale/release. Shanti. Shanti. Sha-anti-iiiiiiii. Namaste.

Bring it in. Feel at one with it. Let it go. Out into the universe. The negativity. Replace it with joy. Inner peace. My head falls forward. Hair dropping to the floor. Swinging gently. Palms flat. Rise up. One vertebra at a time. Rounding back. Shoulders last. Face to the heavens. Smiling. Fingers touching together over my heart.

Lying on the hard wooden floor which cradles my body. A purple bean bag covers my eyes, a rolled cushion supports my knees. The gentle incantations of our instructor brings me comfort. A peaceful bliss. The knot dissipates magically.

Floating free. Out of body and mind I gather the accouterments at the end of our practice. Folding the twin rubber mats which have cushioned my back and supported my weight. Pulling them back to their rightful place along the wall. The feng shui of it all. I carefully replace the strap which supported my outstretched legs on the rod framing the rice paper ink drawings. Carrying the blocks which moments before pillowed my upper sacrum and base of my skull as I lay in repose. Quietude.

Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out. Descend the narrow wooden stairway to the street. Slowly. One graceful step at a time. Capture the essence of the sacred warrior.

Then in one fell swoop it clinches up. My tummy tightens. My smile melts. Dissolves. One word. One frantic thing on the checklist which has come at me all too fast in a very condensed few days as if there is no tomorrow no reason to wait compelled to tic off every last thing blurring whirring until it is completed no rest for the weary no celebration no nothing just one thing after another and another and another until I seize up. Knotted. In a ball.

Seven days until yoga. Seven. It shouldn't be this hard. Not now. Not ever.