(One day my head and foot will meet around back. Gosh, my foot... Dirty yoga toes.)
This letter should probably be dedicated to the giant pigeon my car’s right side mirror obliterated a couple weeks ago. It was awful. Sadly, not only did the pigeon perish but so did my side mirror. $225 later and one less pigeon in the world, I’m still sensitive about it. Also, remorseful, guilty and a touch resentful of how much it costs to replace a piece of painted plastic (How do these car people sleep at night?). Perfect emotions for composing an ode or something, but I’m left uninspired there (But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel horrible about Pidge). So here’s to a different pigeon…
Dear King Pigeon,
You elusive, beautiful thing, you. You are the embodiment of all my “goal” postures: splits, back bends, shoulder openers, hip openers and you’re just so darn good lookin’ I can’t stand it. You set everything in me on fire. No kidding. You test me. Sitting at my edge and breathing you in seems to use up everything I’ve got. We don’t understand each other fully yet, but perhaps in time I’ll settle into your full expression. While I work towards you things are opening, lengthening, deepening, engaging, stabilizing and I’m learning patience. I have this theory that everything you sweetly and lovingly invite your body to do in yoga somehow bleeds into the rest of life that happens off of your mat. So, all of those things above? Please bleed in.
Alright, pretty bird. I’m checking you out. I’ll be chasing your tail feathers for awhile.
Juicy Jam Session: This song sends chills up and down my spine. It was the song I listened to on repeat, sitting on the top of my car, parked on my favorite dirt road, watching what I could see of the blood moon back in September. It’s now my favorite song to play in class for savasana. Melt into the floor. The Southern Sea by Garth Stevenson.