arms arch upward fingers interlace
I’m stretching of course it’s early morning
summer here upon us
curved upward haze behind a building
the day coming. of course
I haven’t got my mind yet
haven’t quite found where it’s hiding.
this is supposed to be a day,
a beautiful life,
a wild and precious life,
a centered, kept, contained
I’m floating elsewhere
away for now, back in five minutes
that little hand-drawn sign swinging from a string
pastel and ink, dream-like messaging inescapable
if not caught and held, perhaps gone to the wind’s
carefree moving mind-path: the breeze.
surely a life is not a day,
a day is not a moment of course
it can all boil down to just the one
one big break,
one long fall toward failure.
Enter the room.
Set down your old mat,
bones, songs, fidgets, fears,
expectations, set your old life down
and unravel your very life-threads, your five minute signs, strings,
etched maps for knowing where you are.
Unroll your mind you can’t even find
and be somewhere: only here
is where you are
a corpse, body breathing in place
a two-minute savasana
floating filament thoughts out
the twisting of an untied cord,
rivets disentangling, notion-rope come undone
working loose our own bodies,
lives, days, pulling out the stitches
so that we are in fact of course
nowhere at all.
[Author: Belovely, the Bikram-loving yogini shares more of her original poetry on her fabulous blog, Alive in the Fire.]