Coming Undone and Redone

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There are days when I think I'll snap. Break. Crumble. Fall apart, with all the pieces evaporating right up into the air.

What triggers it is usually minutiae. Tiny little bits of things, heaped onto one another until they seem the size of a skyscraper. One by one eating up a long fuse until it reaches dynamite at the end. I have a moment, feel embarrassed, scold myself and wonder: how did I end up so...angry?

Usually, as I try to regroup, re-center and re-evaluate why I feel so unbalanced, I think about how often I've been on – or off of – the yoga mat. About whether or not I've done any pranayama (breath control). About whether or not I've laid down in savasana and surrounded all things above and beneath me.

The answer today is: I have not done any of that recently. Why? A million excuses come to mind, but, really, there are none that are quite good enough. Without yoga – without that groundedness of warrior pose and surrender of savasana – I will break, again and again, like a tree who has had its branches cut again and again. But with yoga? With the breath letting go of worries and trials and the body softening and softening? I may bend, but, no matter what, I will never break.



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