writing
My Yoga
My yoga is about coming to terms with my non-exotic anxieties around the human condition.
My yoga is about the feeling I get when I hear my own heartbeat and I become hyper-aware of my own delicate mortality.
My yoga is about the language of letting go, but it is also the expression of attachment to my lifestyle narrative.
My yoga is about 1990s ambient music playlists on YouTube.
My yoga is about my cats walking under the bridge of my “downward dog”.
My yoga is about the floor mirror in front of my mat that reflects the wishful, romantic, complete fantasy of myself back at my “tree pose”.
My yoga is about the dreaded anxiety that I feel when “savasana pose” is approaching and I have to be in my own head for a few minutes.
My yoga is about the peeling sound of my sticky back lifting up off the mat as I rise from “savasana pose”.
My yoga is about the feeling of being completely engrossed in my own self-compassion as a soft ray of light from the window creates a light shape that overlaps my yoga mat, my cats girth and my left leg.
My yoga is about visualizing all the bad things I have done, exiting me through a prolonged exhale.
My yoga is about breathing in fragile optimism.
My yoga is about setting “feel good intentions” and fighting off my dirty cynicism to make room for an almost reachable quality of sincerity that assists in believing intentions as well as the intentions behind my intentions.
My yoga is about validating myself.
My yoga is about filling a void.
My yoga is about predictability.
My yoga is about the geometry in my head.
My yoga is about an investment in repetition.
