For over a month now I've been ignoring the call of my yoga mat. At least when I'm not attending the eight week long yoga 102 class I signed up for. I go to the classes, but at home, the mat has stayed rolled up nice and neat in its carrier. I heard it whispering to me to unroll it, to take some time to move away from that which seems determined to seep into my my soul and keep me from finding and practicing what is positive, loving, good. I just feel frozen. I've never felt unable to act, to trudge forward though my feet seemed encased in mud, like I have over the last month. I find myself standing in the kitchen, staring at the stove but not really seeing it. Or in the bedroom, staring at the bed but not moving to lie down. The other day I realized I had driven through an intersection with a four-way stop, but I couldn't recall if I had actually stopped then proceeded through. I remember passing a few houses just before the intersection, but several seconds from those houses on, up until a half block beyond the intersection, are a complete blank.
Yesterday, when I stepped off the stairs and into the dining area, I looked at my mat hanging on its hook by the window overlooking the fruit garden.
"Today," I heard it whisper.
I went to it, removed it from its carrier, and let it unroll over the area rug in the foyer.
Not fully ready to commit to a practice, I instead took Ado for a long walk during which a boy jumping on a trampoline smiled and waved as we passed, a lone goose waddled along the drainage ditch then decided it didn't like us walking so closely behind and flew further up, landing in the water, its safety zone. We met up with a long-haired white and gray cat that crouched deep into the ditch grasses, as if it thought we'd not be able to see it against the green.
We returned to the house, and as I hung Ado's collar and leash on the hook next to the yoga mat carrier, my unrolled mat again whispered, "Today."
I instead found a recipe online for chai coffee and proceeded to put water in a pot, added cinnamon, cardamom, star anise, whole cloves, and fresh ginger. After these simmered for twenty minutes, filling the kitchen and dining area with a spicy warmth, I added the coffee grounds. More simmering. Then I strained the spiced coffee into a fresh pot and added brown sugar, honey, and milk. More simmering. Then, with a cup of hot chai coffee in hand, I grabbed Mozart's Starling and went to my hammock swing on the deck. There I sipped the coffee while reading or watching the squirrel in our neighbor's tree, who looked down at me, chattering, insulted by my presence.
And so the day went. Me hearing my mat whispering, "Today," and me finding other things to do that I thought might soothe the discomfort deep in my being. Writing. Another walk. More swaying in the hammock swing. Fixing a dinner of salmon and roasted veggies for Angel Baby and myself. Listening to Angel Baby explain the trials and tribulations of waging intergalactic war. Doing my laundry for the week.
Then I found myself at my dresser, pulling out purple yoga pants and an orange top. I quickly changed, grabbed my laptop, and went back downstairs. I settled into Sukhasana on my mat, clicked on the yoga program I've been following, and began. An hour later, after constantly finding myself pulling my wandering thoughts back to my breath, my muscles, my body, I finished practice with Ardha Sirsasana, happy that my shoulder girdle muscles and core are still able to maintain the inversion for ten breaths.
I left my mat unrolled. I will seek it out this evening. I will continue moving forward.