Shall We Dance

There was something about her that was different from the start. Steve had been in many bdsm chat rooms and he could now spot almost instantly the pretenders. The ones who were in the rooms for a one…

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Am I a Yogi?

Reflections of a novice and hopeful yogi

Photo by Chrissy Boyd Miller

The morning sun filters through the redwood trees. I open my eyes, the dementia of dreams slowly lifting. I take my first awake breath of the day and contemplate my state of mind. No regrets from yesterday are seeping in, so that’s positive. I’m grateful for having remembered to set the auto brew on the coffeepot last night as the aroma of freshly ground coffee wafts down the hall. I follow my nose out of bed stealthily as not to wake the four-year-old sleeping sweetly beside me. Just as I’m setting my toes on the floor, he sits up and exclaims, “Let’s play Legos!” while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sometimes I have a few minutes of quiet solitude in the kitchen before he wakes up. It’s hit or miss. Either way, there’s gratitude, so the morning is a win already.

Fortunately, for this daily uncertainty, I’m a morning person. My energy and mood pretty much flow with the sun, so I can usually rally for a 7 or 8 am Lego session with calm and ease. Although I do have to wage a heavy battle against my inner busy person who is nagging me to do chores and be productive. Then my inner child reminds me that spending an hour playing Lego with my son and filling his emotional bucket is a productive use of time. The added bonus is that it gives me an opportunity to practice a little self-care, which I need desperately.

Squatting low over a puddle of Lego bricks with a warm mug of coffee cradled in my hands, I elongate my spine and reach my crown to the sky. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. With a long exhale, I relax my face and shoulders. I can hear my yoga teacher, Juko, say in her soothing sage tone, “Feel your shoulder blades drip down your back,” and they do.

My son assigns me the role of Batwoman and shoves the little red and black pointy-eared figurine into my hand. “Now come to my house, Batwoman!” he bellows. I take him seriously and get into my role. Batwoman totters over to the chaotic assemblage of plastic bricks that is a house and knocks on the miniature door. I feel happy to start the day as a friendly bat and not a bad guy.

After I’ve had a little coffee and Batwoman has visited Zombie Construction Worker’s house for a sufficient amount of time, I focus my attention back on my spine. I stack each vertebra toward the sky…

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