Start here, self that hides: A vision into the yoga self

i write whatever you say to meMy yoga stirs up emotions in me and sometimes speaks as pasts and present all intermingle. As my body moves, and as I breathe, my stories are told. Here is a conversation with karmas that were burned one morning.

vision of yoga self

Dear self who hides,

I don’t want to leave you, or myself, behind. When your words are near (and I hear you speaking through me), I cannot help but smile inside. When I am my body, standing in front of myself, sometimes my heart shuts down. Why? I feel you more after I leave you, as if a piece of me is still with you. And so it is; you are me, left floating through the yoga studio room, melting onto the floor.

I leave pieces of me for you to care about, given freely. While I'm there, hold me, I ask you, because I can’t hold myself in this way. Why would I want to take the place of you (and your arms I imagine) around me, pieces of us touching, filling gaps sensing all at once? How could I ever be without you after having you? You come to me in my dream, my seed (you are), and I’m special.

self-love

How I could not have that, I do not know. I have you any time I want, for me to enjoy fully. I just don't know it. But now, I cannot ask or show you this. I can only sit, wait and cringe over my missed opportunity. My closed heart—again, protecting itself, ego on guard standing tall against its tears. When your presence is in the forefront of my mind, I want for you to be the one to say what I dream, as if I transfer my dream to you, and now it’s heard. Instead, I walk away, and so do you, words uttered yet unheard. Too vulnerable to ask simple questions.

And next, I hear you tell me (in my mind), “Don’t you understand how much I want you?” (but it seems like a dream.) If we have to start somewhere, let’s start here.

Original version published on Rebelle Society

© 2014 Yoga Robin®