Like Words Together Reflections from the deep end of Practice.


Just a Few

I'm really not feeling much like writing after another full, long Saturday at Prananda. I'm physically and mentally tired. It was a really good day, I even was working on my handstand (a pose I hate). The second to last free class was less crazy than the three previous weeks, for which I was really grateful. Even worked on the bio I'll use on my site.

Had a bit of a rough moment, watching the last episode of BSG no less. Reminded of my Dad's death, but it still feels a bit too sore to write about. That and I'm just too tired out to devote a lot of energy to it, and it deserves that energy. In part because I am just worn out by the combination of staying out late for BSG on top of the grief & anger that came up.

So I'm for bed early on a Saturday. I'm not teaching tomorrow and am looking forward to sleeping in, hanging out, maybe doing our grocery shopping. A Kundalini Yoga class at 2:30 then seeing Watchmen with CK and a friend at Cinetopia in the evening.

That brings me to today's poem. I was a little foggy and noticing how I felt resentful, petulant about coming up with a poem. I'm trying to be kinder since the poem I put together the other night when I felt this way someone really liked, commented that it was a kind of "word painting". I gave the irritation and blank screen a few breaths, then came up with something I actually feel alright with.


What is age?
This thing that
Happens to us
All, eventually,
If we're lucky.
The thing is,
I am just not
Feeling it aside
From a collection
Of physical aches
And emotional pain.
I keep moving
Forward into "age"
Yet feeling further
Younger and less
Certain inside.

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