I’ve gotten on the mat six times this morning and still not made it to a sun saluation.
Grief slows and disorganizes a mind and heart. Things are not where where you remember them being and nothing belongs anywhere anymore. But it all belongs. Just where?
I taught more than usual this week. It was difficult to contemplate, but once students began arriving it was the simplest thing in the world. Things belonged. Words flowed, objects had places, there were reasons and lovely surprises.
It’s getting to myself on the mat. I have a plan: hip openers. Twenty sun salutations. Every time I get there, after tadasana, while I’m side bending or reaching back or forward folding, another detail emerges, another fact forgotten, another task undone, maybe this hasn’t happened, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the whole world is wrong. Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense.
Thank goodness for dogs and gardens who love, need and provide regardless of sense making. There’s an organization in those needs and gifts that superceeds sense.
Thank goodness for amazingly wonderful husbands who seem to understand without words.
Thank goodness for yoga mats that are the same every time you go to them. Without expectation, without memory. Just space marked out to find out what you’re going to do.
Perhaps I should go again.