Everything Is Impermanent
17 September 2010 at 10:34 pm
6:30am is when the boyfriend starts kissing my neck and massaging my legs.
The first thought in my head is the mantra my teacher has given us: "Today I will make no decisions because it is no longer intelligent to do so."
My apartment is more a closet than anything, a place I pop into in order to change clothes after I say hello to the spiders that have taken up residence in every spare corner of my threshold.
Yoga teacher training started last weekend. As both my mom and Michelle, who will be visiting tomorrow thank the heavens, said, "I haven't heard you sound so passionate since--ever!"
I'm terribly fascinated by how normal it makes me feel, by which I mean content with being right where I am, doing exactly what I'm doing.
Yoga and riding my bike have become the answers to every question, the response to every emotion.
Frustration? Exhaustion? Confusion? Nothing a 10 mile loop from the Mesa to the bird sanctuary won't cure.
Curiousity? Anticipation? Joy? Nothing a surya namaskara a series won't improve upon.
An hour and a half later, post-coitally contorting my belly into hilarious shapes, elongating every limb, and then breathing into nothing for five minutes of a decreasingly frustrating meditation, and I hop on my bike and coast down the shoreline, through the Mesa fog, past the three border collies, smiling at the two German Shepherds, waving at the dogs and the bike riders and homeless people I've come to recognize in my new little life.
mod l post-mod
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.