There have been highs and there have been lows this past week. All of it has been a solo. I am left feeling like a little yogini rag doll, tossed about the mad, detached, smoky-slate seas. I have let my injury create dis-ease in my body. My anger at feeling frail, something I never fail to rage and rail against, has now dissipated to a dull and listless frustration. I haven’t been able to practice in over a week and my prana is nearly pra-none.
But don’t cry for me,
Argentina lovely yoga sangha. As I write this pose, the honorable George Michael is telling me, “ya gotta have faith.” I won’t say that I’m in the best place, I’ll not force sunshiny cheer, and I cannot be anything other than what I am right now in this moment. What I can do is honor where I’m at. Examine it. Nurture myself without getting stuck in the mire. And eventually rise above.
Because that is what we yoginis and yogis do.
photo credit: Craft Ideas