From My Mat

I looked up at my feet. They looked tired, my toe nail polish older than my first-born child, dead skin scaling my arches, and a scratching scab revealed the fungi problem my doctor can’t solve without some weird pill that causes way too many side effects.

My eyes welled up as I shifted into the next pose. Head to knee, breath out, head back, breath in, and my shame all over me—inside. Tears flowed down into my ears and hairline and I cried out once—a sharp keening.

I’m sorry I wept, my mind’s tide rolling the images, one after the other—all of my mistakes.

I’m sorry for not coming here, to my sacred place, because it is what heals me and what scares me most.

For the Blackberry Chocolate Chip Talent that I was sure “I will have only 5 spoonful’s…each day. “ Savoring it judiciously, the prize for being such a circumspect and whole-fully in control person. I am so sorry that, instead, despite having put it back in the freezer, that the thought of it crept into each and every moment and that finally, I consumed it and even licked the spoon like the unrepentant whore that I am. While I am at it, I am sorry for the extra mashed potatoes with the mushroom sauxe on Sunday. And the two lollipops at last week’s evening class. And for not going to the gym and oh wait…there is some other stuff too. I’m sorry for the many days I didn’t ride my bike and when I did on Sunday, for getting M to pick me up rather than ride home in the rain. I am sorry for not recycling the garbanzo beans can and for throwing the snail across the yard rather than placing it lovingly in its special snail preserve WELL AWAY FROM MY SQUASH PLANT.

My tears coursed out my shame and guilt. Through bleary eyes I saw my bare legs rough with stubble and thought about how I had considered taking pictures of my yoga routine so IG could see what a virtuous yogi I was and felt my cheeks flame at the need for such affirmation.  Then, I felt shame for the shame I felt, when I thought about why I didn’t want to take pictures of my body. Because I didn’t want anyone to think the horrible thoughts that I did, about me.

All the while I continued the flow, my breath slowing with my tears, eyes closed focusing within. Listening to my muscles. My lower back tight with sedentary sediment, my neck and shoulders stiff with money burdens, my waist tired and bloated from holding sadness. I receive each dispatch, open to the truth of each confidence. The empathy came welling up from somewhere raw and new, replying with love and care.

I slowed, moving without judgement, with patience, discarding the lofty goals and high expectations that had been set by ego. In this empty space there was light from my soul, so much wiser than my big-mouth mind.

Finishing, I rocked to seated crisscrossed position and crossed my thumbs over one another, pointing my index fingers down—assuming Ksepani Mudra also know as Uttara Bodhi. The Mudra for Letting Go. I expelled the torrent of shame, slow and steady, the current mild but not meandering.

I was left empty of all but my gratitude. Hands to heart, I thanked God and myself for being there-here-everywhere.

The Best Intentions

It turns out that it is much harder than I thought to build a site and write my very first Finally Friday blog post…all in one day. I had wanted it to be just in time for Mother’s Day, a particularly difficult holiday for me…But.

But, there was a mix up at GoDaddy which meant that domain mapping couldn’t be completed. A fancy name for writing some numbers into 3 fields, which then points my domain name to WordPress. But pointing name servers couldn’t be done because no one could find my domain name. *Insert pretend scream.* To keep my mind off things as I waited I took deep breaths, drank water, watched stupid t.v., and scrolled through twitter reading stupid and horrifying political posts.

But, while in the middle of one of my numerous customer service phone calls, I received a very bad, no good, horrible kind of text with terrible news. Which, I will keep to myself for the moment because I am still thrashing it around my head and my heart is trying to figure out what to do with news.

But, I came down with the flu that I picked up from chaperoning a Band Trip to Disneyland. Note to self: Do not do that again.

But, the cursor is blinking on my Mother’s Day story and I have to go slice some ginger and lemon, twirl some honey onto a spoon, and drop it all into a mug to await the whistle of the kettle, because my throat hurts–from arguing with the kids about cleaning the entry way.

But, that’s another story.

I hope my intentions are up to the road blocks.