Unbeknownst

Flow

7 Flow I like the bare feet, the cotton knit crop pants and simple sleeveless tee, I like unrolling the mat with a snap of the wrists, whipping it out on the floor like a frog hurling out its tongue down on the pond in the mist. I like the dimmed down lighting of the room. I like the balancing poses like tree and eagle and warrior three and being reminded of where we fold in half, the symmetry of every action taken being taken once again on the other side. And the ujjayi breathing which enters and exits only through the nose, but does so audibly, the wave of breath rolling out until all that’s left is the last uneven edge of it and then how it has to come back. I like the way I don’t think once about civil litigation until long after we’ve come out of corpse pose and said namaste. I like thinking of my hip as a melting block of ice as I slip deeper into pigeon. I like all these animal names, and the stretch in the back of the legs, and the twists and the nearly indistinguishable versions of the sun salutation, and the bridge, the plow, and the face of the cow. I like the mild complaints from the rear of the room, the pleadings for an extra long savasana at the end of the hour. I like feeling that my torso has actually lengthened when I’ve been reminded once again to lengthen it. I like rolling up my mat and exiting through the revolving door, surprised by a blast of heat or by the rain, and by the perfect fit of my shoes and the ease of my gait, and how I slip in and fold behind the wheel into the driver’s seat like a thin young thing: My organs are surely glistening. This car was made for me. ...