weightless, restless, and smitten.

weightless, restless, and smitten.
Current mood: bouncy
Category: Life

“There is no floor…..there is no floor…there is no floor……,” he repeated to himself fifteen times in a mental whisper, an attempt to center his focus from the myriad shooting stars soaring in the expanse of an otherwise unstable mind. Of course the trick was to focus on nothing, to be nothing and yet everything at once, to completely dissolve into the floor in a pool of serenity. But this, this was too difficult, ADD raged hard for 20 something years and a few days of yoga was not going to prevent the locomotive from progressing full steam ahead.

“Imagine each thought is a goldfish,” stated the yogi with the bodacious ass a few weeks prior, “and that as many times as you try and grab hold of that goldfish, it swims away into the great abyss.” Her simplistic statement was beginning to make sense….by thinking over and over again that there was no floor, he was attempting to catch the fish, afraid to let go, afraid to return completely to self. Yoga was beginning to reveal itself as a dynamic exercise aligning the path towards enlightenment in this life. His physical desires were reawakening, long dormant for reasons too difficult to explain.

The 12 hour Ritalin was beginning to wear off, it was around 9 at night on a frigid Chicago evening and he was lying on a wooden floor, eyes closed, mind open, finishing an hour and a half of intense yoga. It was no coincidence that he found himself in this particular studio, on this particular evening, with this particular teacher. He was here with a purpose, or two, both of which were perfectly healthy pursuits for a virile twenty something man. She had taught a community class the day prior, all five foot seven of her. It wasn’t his usual practice to sit front and center what with the social anxiety which always steered him “safe harbor” in the back of the room. But the director insisted, such a wise man his friend the director. And of course they were both high as a kite on Ben Franklin’s fateful night, not to mention the fact that he was in desperate need of a haircut.

When class began that Sunday afternoon he was nearly convinced by Ritalin and weed, that mere seconds separated him from absolute embarassment. His heart was racing and was most likely going to explode in an attack of anxiety. He was going to need an ambulance, everyone’s class would be ruined, and the event would forever ban him from returning. But the moment she called the classes attention and assumed downward facing dog, all was calm and clear. He smirked, ready to sweat for an hour and a half with this fine specimen of god’s perfection. He wasn’t sure if it was the confidence with which she led a class of 50 enthusiasts, the taught physique and ass of perfection, or the sincerity she expressed when he inquired what other days she taught for Liberation Yoga, he was smitten. The how made no difference why blood was rushing through his body, causing butterflies to dance in his stomach as day dreams of passionate physical expression of love and romance kept misleading his focus. He was in first grade chasing curly haired, rambunctious Suzy around the playground, playing doctor in the confines of a jungle gym. When she responded that she taught Monday evenings, he cleared his calendar.

A stressful day at work passed and he found himself lying on a hardwood floor for what seemed like ages. A draft from an old window began to subjugate the once temperate room, awakening his body. Fifty different goldfish had swum away. Shivasana was no longer restful. Phone calls and emails began to nag, nag, nag at the consciousness when he noticed a step, followed by another. What little light was let in through his eyelids was overshadowed by a figure. The silence was maintained as she pushed firmly down on his shoulders. He took a deep breath and sighed with relief. She reached to the back of his head and massaged his neck, hands brushing past the sweat pouring from his hair. He imagined cradling her in his arms as she applied slight pressure to his face. All worry dissipated and with the final touch on his forehead, a smile was born, as he finally dissolved into a pool of serenity devoid of goldfish. Warmth filled his veins and for a moment he felt as if he was floating in his mother’s womb, completely content with simply being. To her it might have been nothing more than a kind gesture of a dedicated teacher, but to him, to him meaning was uncovered. He wished he could pause time, hold the moment in the palm of his hands and fill his heart with its purity from now until the end of time.