I roll over. The pressure in my bladder has forced me awake. I am frustrated mildly. The air is close and full of the scents of our warm bodies and our night mouths. My body is sticky with the sweat of a hot flash. I push the damp covers off me and struggle into a sitting as smoothly as possible so as not to wake him up. I pause and notice the sky is a medium dark blue of dawn, and not the blue-black of night. “Oy!” I think. I slide slowly forward to have my feet touch the floor. There is a scent of hot lint. It’s the kind of scent in a clothes dryer when its left on longer than the clothes need. My sleep-muzzy mind thinks, “Great, I’m cooking my clothes now. Why doesn’t it dry the bed?” I gingerly get to a standing position. I’m stiff. My whole body aches from muscles contracted too long. My breathing is the deep long kind that goes with sleep. I carefully put one foot in front of another and go do my business. By the time I am again walking around the bed, my breathing has changed. It’s not as deep or as long. I’m more awake now. I sit a moment and look at the moon and the landscape limned by its light. The trees moving in the wind are hypnotic. My eye lids grow heavy. I pivot into the bed and lay down in a smooth, gentle motion. I want to sleep, but I know that my body isn’t going to do that. It’s too uncomfortable. I’m emotionally uncomfortable about that. I feel as if my life is controlled by my body’s basic imbalance. I’m not getting to relax. I’m not getting to sleep. I’m not feeling the deep comfortable happiness in my body that it feels when I’m really well. I want it. I miss it. I’m pouting that I’m not getting it. And yet, there’s something primal rising up in me over and over, burning me up. I think its burning something in me that I don’t understand, have no words for. I just lay, sweating, knowing that the moments will come when I’m shivering uncontrollably in a body that can’t get warm no matter how many blankets I lay with. I cannot understand it, but I feel its burning away my unwillingness. Its fueling my yoga. Its fueling how I write. I’m waking up wanting to do Reiki. Not for me, but for the world, for those I love. I’m waking up wanting to give the world the fruit of my pen. I write what words come and don’t know their value. I just move letters on to the page and hope it makes some sense; that it composes truth. This morning I stood in the hot rushing water of my shower, closing my eyes in relief at the heat and the relaxation it brings to my stiff muscles. I kept thinking of the scent of hot lint and clinging sweat on my body. I could feel body memory palpably of the rushes of heat suffusing the center of me. It feels more than physical. It feels as if fire is rushing through my consciousness and cleansing it of some dark fog that has clouded my mind forever. And then the heat will pass and I feel myself sinking into the dullness of mismatched hormones and old patterns of thought. It’s a dullness I’ve lived within always it seems. But this heat is causing my yoga to evolve. I’m thinking of it differently. I’m thinking that stringing these letters together is my yoga. It’s not just an asana. It isn’t just how I breathe. Its how I speak. It’s these letters composed together and encompassing and abiding with this heat. It’s in letters to my community and the way I smile all over my being when he tells me I light up his room. I keep hearing words in my mind, they are almost too dim to hear; “I love my life…” I hear this despite the fears I’ll fail or experience loss. I hear it and I choose it. I choose it over and over. No matter what.
I lay a long time this morning. Then he woke and pulled my back into his spooned lap and wrapped his arms around me. I finally got warm again. Not the burning kind of heat, but the calm warmth of peace. I fell asleep again, happy in his arms. I’m so grateful. I love my life. And this is my yoga. Its not just what happens on the mat. It’s what happens in my heart when I string words on a page and the contentment and happiness of being cuddled by life.