Yesterday I needed To feel The ground Solid And deep Under My feet. I needed To feel My legs Solid And strong On top of My mat. And when My legs Felt weak Yesterday I needed To feel. And when The ground Felt Shaky Today I needed To need. And it was ok Because I’d practiced.
I forgot, Today, To pick A beat To set My flow. Instead, I found The rushing Of my breath And the creaking Of my bones And the popping Of my joints And the whispered screeching Of my muscles In the silence. I remembered, Today, To hear My flow Set my beat. And the closing chords Were lovely.
I peer Towards the flame From behind The gauze of, “I wish,” And “What if,” And “Why can’t,” And it is dark There. And it is dark Until My breathing seeps Between the edges Separating Wishes from Cants And why nots From what ifs. And here I am now In the clear Flickering Light Of the morning.
My mat Feels Somehow Simultaneously Too big For the small Space I’ve squeezed Myself Into And Too small To contain What’s leaking From My bursted seams.
First, I found My feet. My toes, And heels, And arches. They dug in deep And I reached. Next my legs Emerged, My calves, And shins, And thighs. They thickened And I soared. And in the end, I bent Into feet and legs, Muscle and bone, And found grace.
Some days I have To shut My eyes And listen To find My way Into my skin. Body still, I fill my lungs And lay Breath Down With intention Crumb By Crumb. And for a moment, I am full.
I pause The grinding Mindwork To find My pieces Scrambled and Scattered About. A hope here. A doubt there. A glimpse of a memory That always leaves me Guilty. I pause. And breathe Space Between the gears. I pause And stretch Time Between the beats. And with spacetime Set aside, My pieces slip into place.
My body Arrives, Still Hot and Driving The beat Of my run. And the Practice It finds there Is more rest Than rhythm More stillness Than shifts. And I breathe Into body Over and over As my mind Insists We move on.
On this day I slipped Into my practice Upon waking Like Easing Into your bed After too much Living Leaves us Weak. Necessary And Indulgent Somehow To leave be The befores And the laters And come to rest In the now.
Some days, I feel lonely In the dark, In the quiet, Seeking To create A moment Or two Of just being By redoing And redoing With Intention. Other days, Though - Other days, Everyone I’ve ever loved Or hurt Or been seen by Shows up In the alleys Between Being And doing And I Recognize Us.
