Floor yoga

Self-portrait with two day old braids, January 24, 2019

Self-portrait with two day old braids, January 24, 2019

This was some week, some week, indeed. There was a time when I would have felt unsteady in the midst of this. Tax season, the slow season, achy shoulder, a recent download of noteworthy criticism, a rainbow in January in New Jersey (I don’t think that’s supposed to happen), some house issues, plus it’s gettin’ on that time of the month.

On the flip side, I have so much, more than enough, even though I often want more and even though I often want less.

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Tonight, the floor yoga meditation called me. My heart rate was up and my jaw was tense. I might not be unsteady, but I feel all those weights.

I spread out a recent hand-me-down. A sleeping bag that smelled like earthy camping gear and wood smoke. My friend passed it along. “I have a sleeping bag for you,” he wrote in an email. He added that it was Simcha’s, a mutual friend who died nearly a year ago. Sweet Simcha, you were an remarkable person. Thanks for doing yoga with me.