little gurus (IV)

Standard

My yoga mat fits neatly in the narrow front hall,
extending along the hard floor from the base of the door
to the edge of the living room carpet.

I stand in samastithi and
am reminded to dedicate my practice.
The crucifix hanging to my left side,
not twenty-four inches from my cheek,
thankfully doesn’t let me forget.

I used to practice here and there
and take workshops and train
and teach and get frustrated
with my hips and hamstrings
and get angry that my
ninety-minute-primary-series-Lenten practice
wasn’t blissful.

And then I spent some years
being pregnant, recovering from c-sections, learning how to breast-feed, dealing with resentment and discouragement, discovering joy and unconditional love, and I didn’t practice on my mat much at all.

I’ve since returned to my minimum daily practice:
five sun-salutation-A’s, five sun-salutation-B’s and
some finishing poses
with my little gurus crawling beneath my downward-dog
and accepting my forward-bending-kisses.

I’ve learned more at my stay-at-home studio
than at any workshop. My teachers are mysterious in their methods,
but I’ve gleaned boundless wisdom so far
and my studies have only just begun.

I don’t practice padmasana anymore, or even savasana.
Now my babies sit on my folded legs
and assist me in hug-asana,
and we stretch out belly to belly in snuggle-asana.

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