Yoga Paradox

I had a dream I wanted to scream,
                    but no sound came out.

I had a morning where I longed for silence,
                    but I screamed and screamed.

I strive for expansiveness and constant motion,
        but I forever cling to stability and prediction.

           “It’s going to be alright.” I say as the optimist.

          “Shut up, Liar.” I say as the other.

        My truth giggles and speaks in a squeal of mockery:

                                    Why does it matter?

All at once there are so many tomorrow thoughts:

        far away, impossible like it may never come,
                             I’m a unicycle and my wheel is fear.

        inevitable, inescapable like bars I can’t eat my way through, because they’re
        not made of chocolate, but bitter metal leaving me
                             savouring the taste of my behaviour.

        it’s a gift, and there must be a god if I get to have it.

        “Which one is it?” I ask the truth.

                 snicker, finger wagging, silly-you headshakes

        “I’m waiting.” I plead.

There’s so much waiting, always waiting.
This is a song about the waiting:
             that lost and amazing sensation in between the in-between where
             there’s no pick-me-up, no stiff upper lip, or cold drink, no cushion on
             the bench, no warm-bosomed embrace to ease the waiting.

    Here: I’m a puppy learning “stay.”
             The urge to run and chase the cat is more powerful than anything I’ve
             ever known. I can taste her fur and feel her wiggling to get free and
             continue our game. I feel the sting of her sharp claws across my cheek.
             I flinch to protect my eyes from the nipping daggers of my lack
             patience.

        I stay.

                                    Breath There.

                                    There, there. Stay in the waiting where everything becomes
possible.

                                     Stop. Settle. Feel the urge and take a nap in a headstand.

                                    There’s a piece of you here that you can’t love unless you stay.

 

“I’m not strong enough.”

                                    You are.

“Well, I can’t do it much longer.”

                                    You can and you will.

“God, I wish I was stronger.”

                                    There, there. That’s where it comes from.

                        Inhale. Exhale.

        And then I’m staring up at a starry sky:
                 I start to wish, but I exchange this habit for something better,
                 something bigger.

                 The stars are a kaleidoscope and I am spinning with them,
                 and I’m spilled out everywhere, all at once, but perfectly contained. It’s
                 unfamiliar, but it’s everything I’ve ever known.

        Inhale. Exhale.

~ Angela Dee

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