I am calmed by the soft petals of the lotus
flower, the same petals of the same lotus flower that
rests upon the shoulder of my yoga teacher, whom I
see every Monday and Wednesday afternoon.

I am calmed by starting out in child’s pose, hips back,
arms out front, stretching shoulders wide.

I am calmed by the cool water that runs like a river down my
parched throat during our first break in the practice.

I am calmed by the soft sounds of the music that plays in
the background and the tiny thuds from the basketballs
hitting the backboard, in the court on the other side of the wall.

I am calmed by the turquoise blue of my yoga mat and the
matching towel beside it, which I never get sweaty enough to use.

I am calmed by all the warriors teaching us strength, endurance, and balance.
Warrior one: arms up to the sky, Warrior two: arms out to the side,
Warrior three: one leg held up high, and Warrior four: arms are spread out wide.

I am calmed by all of the cats and cows and tabletops and chairs
that we become, and all of the forward folds.

I am calmed by savasana, or corpse pose, at which we arrive in the end.
we lay on our backs, legs out wide, arms flat, facing up, and eyes close.
there we stay for what seems like an eternity.
Then, when we’re ready, we roll over onto our side-body, into a fetal position.
Then, we slowly rise up into a seated position with our eyes still closed
and our hands folded softly at heart’s center.
Finally, we stretch our arms out as if it was the first grand stretch of the
morning, and it’s usually followed with yawning yogis.

I am calmed by shavasana, the death and rebirth between classes.

I am calmed by the blank space my mind becomes when I close my eyes and just exist without a worry in the world.

I am calmed when we bow and say, “Namaste.”

Last night, I had a had a dream:

We were driving down a snowy-city street.
It was the biggest city we’d ever been in
because we just kept driving and driving
and driving without ever turning.

We had heavy winter coats on and
you were describing your time at work,
which seemed more like a big corporate office,
rather than a small city newspaper.
Your voice was as sweet as silk.

The sky fell to dusk, and we came to a mall
and there’s people everywhere.
The evening chill just vanishes as the
double-doors close behind us.
And we were walking together, talking
and window-shopping and enjoying
each-other’s company.

It seemed like an eternity passed before
we left the mall.
We were walking down a chilly street,
but where our hands joined us, it warmed
me to the core.


I was distracted by the cold, grey,
overcast sky and the snowy streets of the
wintery metropolis we strolled through
when you turned to me and said
something. though I didn’t hear
it in the dream, I know I’ve heard
it so many times, before.

Sometimes, it comes soft as a
whisper, and sometimes a
scream of passion.
I love you.

Tell me,  darling,  do you know                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                       what it feels like to see                                                              ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                             all of the stars fall from the sky?
Because that is what it feels like, watching the              
                                               ­          light leave your eyes as the sadness in  
                                your bones floats up from somewhere deep inside of you.  

I tell you that                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                          you can tell me anything,  not for the satisfaction of                                                               ­                                                                 ­                                                   my own curiosity,  but for the sake of your own sanity.
                                           My love, do not bottle up your stardust,
                                                      but tell me of your troubles and together  
                                                      ­      we can fashion galaxies
                                                        ­                         with what it means to
                                                           love and to be loved,  not what it means
                                                           ­                                    to wallow alone in despair.

For once, my room has good lighting.
It is not from the lamp that hangs from the ceiling, casting a yellow glow.
It is from the moonlight washing over you. Washing over me.
For once, I truly see you. You are so much more than the writer or the artist or the brilliant mind.
This night, I see the stardust in your bones.
I see you are more than the flesh and blood and teeth on the outside.
That beauty stops on the outside.
But my dear, you are beautiful, inside and out.
Your stardust is beautiful.
And for once, I see you.

There is some kind of sadness in my heart when I hear this one song. It just comes alive and dances with the melancholy notes.
I do not know where it comes from, only that it is a part of me, and I’ll carry it with my always, even if I am to hear the same song each day.
I’ve learned to embrace every part of myself, the light and dark parts, the happy and sad, and if I am to spend equal time in happiness and sadness, then **** it, I will at least learn how to harmonize with it.

Your eyes are like the ocean, that blue a vast, limitless expanse.
Dark and twisting as thoughts are pulled beneath the tide.
Eyes so blue that I could become lost in them forever, if only you'd let me.

I will not take the blame for
any atrocities
my curiosities
may commit against you.

You told me you required
a potion, or a few
an elixir, or two,  
here's what I've brought for you.

This first red potion will do
it will heal your damage,
even if you’re ravaged.
With magic, it’s imbued.

The second, a blue mixture
a mix that makes you sleep,
a slumber that's so deep,
You'll be out until noon.  

Next is a strange elixir:
green and made of venom,
keep it clear of vellum,
it will eat it clear through.

And the next I have with me
is a dark purple flask
don't dump it in the cask
lest' you'll turn the wine blue.

And next, I’ve got a rare gem
a glowing white tonic,
to heal you of chronic
pain with a swallow or two.

Here is a real concoction.
This one is a deep black.
Don't store it in your sack,
or it will surely spew.

Next, I have this yellow one,
a decanter of wine,
used to make scales shine
like a sheen of fresh dew.  

And here is a fine mixture.
It's a sparkling pink
drink that makes you think,
clearer than you're used to.

At last we meet the end of
this long alchemist's list.
Brews from the willow witch,
hand-crafted just for you.  

There's one for every color
in the rainbows above.
For everyone you love,
I'll be sure to send two.