I have new, sleek, white and blue, rounded edge bolsters. Just waiting in my closet. Part of the reason they’re still new is that I keep reaching for my first massage oil stained, slightly lumpy after too many times stuffed back into its laundered cover, ripped in one seam bolster. When I look for something to drape my spine over in either a restorative forward bend or gentle back bend, I’ll go across the room to grab my ratty old blue bolster, even if the new sleek ones are close by.
Maybe its the memory of toting it all over Sedona the summer I spent a week doing yoga on the most improbable sandstone spires, or of my happiness when the motel where I’d absent-mindedly left it shipped it back to me. Or the one of my first restorative seated forward fold over my very own bolster at home. Not a sofa cushion, not three pillows: a bolster. Made for supporting forward folding and hearts. Made for yogis who take their practice to heart. Or the times I’ve wept into it. Or the smiles I’ve melted into over it.
But it’s probably just that all those lumps offer infinite variability and new ways to experience my poses. Put your forehead here and it’s perfectly centered. Here, and it’s ever so slightly turned to one side. Rest your arms at this angle and melt. At this one and feel your edge. The lumps are probably from substandard stuffing or maybe just age. The stains and small seam tears are from living. I’ll never take this bolster for my students to use: it looks like it needs a bath even when just out of the wash. I’ll keep it at home, my personal support, organically molded by my practice and my life.