Something Yoga

I was challenged to write about yoga... and for whatever reason, I've always resisted writing about this huge piece of my life. Perhaps because I have such a hard time segregating my asana practice from the rest of my life and the rest of my writing. But here are a few poems that stem from this very sacred practice...


The Pulsing Heart

I forget
Where I’ve been.
Laying on my back,
Limbs spreading out,
Jaw relaxed, heart mended.
Pulsing out into the static world
I am warm and mind wanders,
Then draw it back to pace
Just like you might
Make a puppy
Sit again
And again,
Until it stays.
Innocent mind,
I forgive you over
And over again until you
Obey and purify, stop leaning
Grow upright, become transparent.
We argued about the fate of life,
This human race going on,
And you made the point
That we are most vile
Comparatively.
But, I said
That feeling of
A genuinely good
Seed, perhaps compassion,
The capacity to feel makes us truly
The blessed ones, and to deny this truth,
That we experience these peak moments in time,
This feeling that we may just get once
In the hundred years we might live,
This is the meaning of life for us.
We are not vile because
There is that seed
Of light shining.
Pulsing.
This is why
We must go on so
Others might understand,
Their worth in a brief bolt of lightning
Hitting the soul’s soil, turning the humus
Into a solid gem that can never be destroyed.
This is the lesson you’ve taught me, mind
Sitting quietly, continually reaching
For the reigns to bring you back
To touch my heart once more.
Just before I cave inwards
You come running,
Filling me up
With purest
Joy.


Falling Open

Falling open can hurt
Initially, it can
Bruise the skin a
Deep blue-purple pool
Of blood under the surface
That sits, stagnant
For an undefined time.
Uncertain of
The forces that heal,
That they will find
This dark bruise amidst
Countless others.
Go ahead and sing
That sad melody,
But don’t drown out
The heart’s healing.
For it will rebuild
What’s been hurt,
And falling open will
Feel like freedom
Pinched your skin
Just so you could
Heal again.


Pigeon Pose

Pain sleeps in the hip,
Wraps a thick blanket
Of muscle tissue
And memory, tightly
Around the synovial joint.

Where the body must
Always seek support.
Where the mind, it must
Reserve its worries.
Accumulating the world

Of suffering life
This place is home,
The door jammed shut
With rusting hinges,
Awkwardly hanging on.

Cannot retrace steps,
Walk backwards through time
To undo the mess
That has unfolded
In a sad, entropic fate.

It is trapped within,
Seemingly passive
In a cold, clenched bed
Where tears fall from closed eyelids.
Breath there,

Forgiveness, if that too
Is sleeping somewhere forgotten,
Slowly peel the fingers from the fist.
Everything slowly fades away,
If you let the tide come in.


Going In

Old ways
Have found me here,
Fighting wind on the shore.
Used to be so sure of myself
And life.

This ocean
Has another name,
But its salt taste the same
As all of the other oceans
I’ve known.

I go
Far, far away
From everything I know,
Only to return home again,
Grateful.

Searching
Outside myself,
I’ve found so much beauty
But the greatest journey travels
Inward.

Most things
Worthwhile are hard
Like standing in wind,
Upright and at ease, gazing out
To sea.

This is a picture of me in one-legged king pigeon pose (Eka Pada Rajakapotasana) when I was doing my SEVA volunteering at Kripalu. In my opinion, this is one of the most beautiful asanas, not just because of the way it looks, but because your hips must be open in order to get there. We tend to store a lot of life in our hips...all the stuff we don't deal with often accumulates there. It took me a lot of tears and falling open in order to come to this place. So be gentle with yourself as you go in. Take it slow and feel every fiber of your body come undone. Only when you've been through it and felt it all, can you journey into an asana like this one.