21.5.800 Day 16
I told the story of my son coming into this world. How he and I were fighters long before he became a mixed martial art fighter. I share how we were homeless both before and after his birth. How angels surrounded us and kept us together thru a long battle. My son now fights with Michael the Archangel tattooed to his side.”
I listen to the little voices in my head say that today your coffee needs a little ground cinnamon. The voice also reminds me to take batteries and camera to yoga class. Where I met my body on the mat and it told me many things.
It is difficult to remember to water the indoor plants when it looks like Seattle in Marquette and the rain came down heavy in sheets.
A fellow yogini told me the morning dawned with orange sky everywhere and that her dog is on robin-time. I woke to Mike closing a widow that was raining in the bedroom with winds challenging the movement of trees. They too found where their bodies were restricting and holding.
Sometimes our bodies deal with storms.
I shake my head in down dog trying to let go of tension. I arch to the left in gate pose. I thread the needle. Listening to what my body tells me.
I woke with spasm and fear in my colon and core. Thought I cannot possibly go to yoga. I thought the storm just proves the point. I cannot ride my bike. My car is on empty.
Mike said, but you seem to enjoy yoga.
So I was at Mukta.
I told the story of my son coming into this world. How he and I were fighters long before he became a mixed martial art fighter. I share how we were homeless both before and after his birth. How angels surrounded us and kept us together thru a long battle. My son now fights with Michael the Archangel tattooed to his side.
Our lives are full of miracles.
Healing occurs in the breath of a hummingbird at a red glass feeder.
I ought to thin the radish seedlings but I have a cloudy head full of storm-weather this afternoon.
I’m letting cinnamon work on me, internal.
I’m letting lavender work on me, external.
I’m letting the angels work on me, ethereal.
I want to seek a deep cave with room for art and remembrance and not rush this day.
This day I brought a life into the world.
We all have a part in creation.
How we chose to breathe.
Today I chose the yoga mat and cinnamon, to water the plants, to capture light and remember.
Word Count: 384
Posted on June 23, 2010, in 21.5.800, Holistic Health, Memory and Memoir, Yoga and tagged 21.5.800, 21.5.800 Day 16, birth, born a fighter, Healing, meeting the myself on the mat, Yoga. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.