Sunday, December 27, 2015

Wooden Mirror

A few times, during this morning's slumber, my body reminded me of yesterday's 8 mile run, a stiff neck and some down and dirty core work.  I needed to calculate every movement when changing positions; my body was sore.  Before the alarm sounded, my eyes peeled open as my bladder called for relief.  I opted to get a move on to attend an early yoga class at a studio I've never been.

The warm space and inviting substitute welcomed me.  After exchanging pleasantries, I parked my shoes along the wall before finding a home for my mat.  I noticed, positioned across from me, a sad girl.  Oftentimes, she gazed into the distance, away from my mat, with a terribly sad look on her face.  Her eyes, barely opened, seemed to hold the weight of the world; the creases of her mouth hung down giving the illusion that her cheeks could not be held up by her upper jaw any longer.  I tried to ignore the girl, and most of the time I was successful.

Working in the boundaries of my own practice, I painted a picture on my mat; a work of art laced with challenges, breathless moments and a little sweat.  Every now and again, my eyes would reset on the girl.  She remained stone faced, her mood unchanging with the slow flow.  Distracted, I couldn't comprehend why she could not find the sunlight.  I turned my attention back to the remainder of the class, feeling the burn of the final poses.  I thankfully shifted into savasana, carefully placing a bolster under my legs for added support.

I gave myself permission to completely relax.  The mat loved my body back, supporting each inch.  I didn't think about that girl, rather my mind drifted to an unnamed place.  The time in savasana was short lived.  Within five minutes we were encouraged to introduce movement back to our bodies.  I hugged my knees into my chest, rocking side to side re-awakening the lower spine.  I rolled to my right side for a full breath before pressing myself up to seated.

In unison with the practitioners, I pressed my hands together in front of my heart, bowing my head to an audible 'Namaste'.  I folded over my lotus legs, dropping my hands forward onto the mat.  I raised my head, looking up towards the girl, but she must have left my view.  For a moment I couldn't find her.  As I rolled up my mat, she caught my eye.  With the mat tucked under my left arm, I looked back to see her image burned into the wood floor.