Turning Pages

Remembering...
Drunk with laughter last night, Mom and I sat on my bed and shared a rare moment -- a space in time without the responsibilities of the week, concerns of the day or doubts of what may or may not lie ahead for either one of us pressing their heaviness upon our shoulders -- we looked through old photos and got silly. Fits of giggling filled us up with the warmth of the life we have lived and the people with whom we have experienced the only reason for our existence -- love.

Busy helping put together a memorial slideshow for my Grandpa, I let some memories slip through, beneath my skin -- just enough to allow emotion its timely transition into thought, the judging and reasoning kind.

How did I get to this place September 25, 2012? More importantly, what can I do to change it?

Certainly the hearty dose of perspective I was inhaling so rapidly I came up short of breath more than once and fell completely into tears more than I care to admit was brought about by more than Grandpa quietly ending his struggle; there have been of late, a series of serendipitous events, instrumental in my tears slowly stalling, dried with intermittent smiles, helping me to see that time does not stand still, regardless of how much we may feel broken into pieces -- our children always need us and we have to clean up the mess we've made and wholly turn the page.

Reading Anna Karenina, for the simple knowledge that Tolstoy's lead allows the circumstances she's created to overwhelm her enough that ceasing her life abruptly by way of becoming train track mincemeat appeals more than enduring the trials of adultery -- has indeed brought me some emotional composure. Sweetheart, nothing need ever be that dramatic.

And drama, or lack thereof, is to what I paid particular attention last night in my practice -- 90-minutes more like therapy than any other class I've experienced. For the first time -- ever -- I sat out second set of almost every posture after triangle. And you know, it was absolutely fine...dirt off my shoulder. I'm not sure exactly why I had to take it easy, but as it turns out, not so bad once in a while.
Two breaths into pranayama, I was dizzy with electrolyte imbalance -- as of last night, it has been 18 nights of little if any sleep, which seriously throws off any semblance of normal eating habits; humidity was tropically thick; the instructor and I share a particular kinship -- the latter merited particular contemplation...

We went to Teacher Training together, our partners were in medical school together, that coupling continued happily ever after, mine did not.
She is a full-time Bikram Yoga Instructor -- respected as such by her family and now husband, a Plastic Surgeon. She is happy, contributing to the health and well being of others through yoga...period.
Somewhere out there, that will be enough for whomever I share with these 60-some years I hope to have left; if it's not enough for me -- fine -- but it will be enough for him...that's how I'll know. What makes me complete, nourished inside and out will always be enough for him.
It will be no surprise to him something in which I'm the boss will be a big part of such wholeness, because let's get real here -- a studio of my own for sure, days full of teaching, managing, learning, sharing, loving and, of course, hotness will be necessary. And little parts of us that grow up to be big parts of us -- the real sweetness of life.

Even if our visions seem lofty, they are important to have -- in all their blaring honesty -- otherwise, how are we to realize them?

I tried not to think so much in class today, ready to let it be just as it would; it was a smooth, strong, resolved practice, without any wavering whatsoever. Still no rest for the body, but I imagine I've given some to the space between my ears.

Beside You

No longer. The winged heart etched into my back has, ready or not, taken its most bittersweet flight. Its weight of late has become burdensome; once it has a strong enough wind to carry it somewhere unconditionally warm and wanting, it won't land on anything less than such a heaven -- until then -- let it rest, replenish and reorganize -- for its thoughts, words and actions have been chaotic far too long.

Perhaps some coconut water will do the trick, or a swift kick in the head -- just to remind me of its importance in making major decisions; as much as we lovers are naturally governed by often impractical but inescapably delicious fluttering from deep inside our hearts, this disconnect with logic can lead us into hopeless places -- tethered to those who sleep with one eye open and scissors under the pillow.

Don't most relationships need a thinker -- plentiful in methodologies and rationalizations about the pairing he's chosen -- insistent upon some sort of plan? If mine didn't have one, I'd take my partner's hand in mind, pull him close, and throw us both off a cliff into an ocean deep with desire and shallow with concern for societal norms and the expectations of others.

Somewhat perplexed as to whether or not my affinity for leaping before looking is as negative as some consider it, I might as well head into the hot room for an ass-kick and cap the evening with a sweetly addictive rye and coke -- because what other immediate course of action is there that lifts my heavy heart and leaves me believing tomorrow is ripe with possibilities?