From Yoga, I Reach
My feet.
My feet pressing
firmly into my mat,
I know the smooth,
the sticky, and the grit.
I know the Earth beneath me.
Pressing firmly into
my past,
I know the heartache,
the soul-ache, the life-ache.
From my feet, I
reach.
My legs.
I hug in from my
skin, to my muscle, to my bones.
The same bones I
have, in past, forgotten.
The same bones, from
which I have asked too much.
The same bones I have
stressed to break.
From my bones, I
reach.
My belly.
With feet grounded
and legs strong,
I find the very core
of me.
I pull in and up.
I lift my place of first connection to my heart.
From the place where I
know things,
when I really know.
From my belly, I
reach.
My lungs.
With my lungs, I
breathe
The breath of life.
I breathe the outside
in and inside out.
I am my breath.
I am my breath.
Big belly breaths from
my feet to my fingers.
From my breath, I reach.
My heart.
Dhakdak, beat. Dhakdhak,
beat.
My heart carries the
world through my veins
And takes me to the
world.
I reach
into my heart,
My place of second,
and third, and fourth,
And all connections.
From my heart, I
reach.
My throat.
I speak here.
I feel words both
spoken and unspoken.
I feel the words that
strangle me with their urgency.
I feel the words that
close off my breath with regret.
Here, now, from yoga,
I reach.
My voice feels free
and true
Anchored to my feet,
bones, belly, and heart.
From my voice. I
reach.
My thoughts.
For so long, I
thought they were me.
Each one, me.
This me of thoughts floated,
struggled.
Was deeply sculpted and cut by
All of the words.
From yoga, I see thoughts are not mine.
I choose the ones I
want to hold.
I free the rest.
From my thoughts, I
reach.
My feet.
My bones.
My belly.
My heart.
My lungs.
My voice.
My thoughts.
From yoga, I reach.
My arms extend from
my core.
My eyes look upward.
Knowing what is me
and what is not me.
Embracing my pains
and joy, past and present.
Digging into the
beauty and truth of this moment.
From yoga, I reach.
The Yoga Bag
Catherine Cook-Cottone