E V E . N T U A L L Y

Over time the media images proved successful as she found herself in a heated dark room sitting next to others who wore clothes and positions that very much matched the images she’d seen in the last year.  

The yoga commercials with their relaxing spa music, online stores with word of wisdom apparel and images of poses and posers intrigued her because they all looked sublime, calm and peaceful. She’d worked with a few people that took yoga classes but calm didn’t seem to translate outside of classroom doors. She wanted to know what the disconnect was, where her perception was off and how she could connect the dots.  

So she signed up for an advanced class that required an extra waiver of liability with the thought that surely those risking their lives believed in what they were doing and if they believed in what they were doing then surely they would offer her the greatest insight into the purpose. 

Maybe the fact that she’d never stepped foot in a yoga studio should have made her question her decision.  Maybe the wave of heat that anointed her with dizziness as she sat criss-cross applesauce in the midst of thirty or so sweating snakes should have made her run away screaming.  But she sat silently sweating instead, staring at the clock on the wall and wondering if a visible second hand would cause her feel more or less comfortable with listening to hisses and envisioning forked tongues piercing through her mat and between the space in her thighs to offer some sort of consolation for the heat running through her body. 

Somewhere she picked up the idea that to achieve a certain result she needed to appear as if she’d already arrived.  Whether it was for herself or the world she couldn’t be sure.  Fake it till you make it was the mantra her mind grabbed in order to smooth over her expression when the cashier gave her the total of her ‘enlightenment kit’, at least that’s what she called it because in her mind she was going to take yoga for a month so that by summer she’d have achieved enlightened being status.  She knew she ‘looked’ sublime when class started with only the belly dancing footwear the obvious tip off that she was less than a beginner, not even worthy baby snake status.

Giving into the dizziness and sweat she took dead woman pose on the mat while wondering about the waiver, the kool aid crowd and how funny waivers were.  Soon she drifted off to a red slipper world as the instructor turned the crowd into lions, tigers and bears.  

The animals found her some salt and water but not the kind found in the sea.  Sitting up she found them standing around her, the room brightly lit and no longer steamy.  The first words out of her mouth were, “I think I died.”

They all smiled without saying a word except “Namaste”.

Nothing in her yoga experience connected to anything else in her life so she stopped going deciding it was of no value because she didn’t hold belief in the waiver.  When summer arrived she proceeded to collect seashells instead of flexibility while wading in the sunshine of ocean waters instead of enlightenment.  

It wasn’t until winter arrived, the coldest she’d ever known that again she’d felt she had died.  She couldn’t uncover salt or water from frozen earth yet found she could drown beneath the sea to a warm death, crack the surface of her soul, receive new life and be freed from the tyranny of every past, present or future tornado.

When the house landed she stood upon her snake mat moaning with widely spread Eagle Legs.

Namaste