i want to vomit.
i can sense the glands under my tongue
swell and heat
attempting to expel my discomfort.
but instead, i breathe,
stay with the swelling,
ask silently for it to know
that i feel it--
i don't need it to go,
in fact, i will love-hate-love-hate-love-hate-love it
until it passes
like everything
eventually does.
this mixture
of trust and well-grooved knowing
is the potion i forget to drink
when it comes to things more complicated
than yoga--
like oppression
or transcending
our personal and collective
histories that are
destroying our capacities
for everyday love
to grow like rosemary
off the side of our spiritual houses.
i'm not yet the
guru-warrior
revolutionary-lover
infinite-mothership
of healing and
creating anew
that i'd do almost anything to become.
because there's an almost in there
and it has to do with fear.
perhaps the fear of feeling
that no matter what i do
the world will still get bruised
so why bother? why bother?
but i know the answer
and so do you:
it has to do with that feeling of
wanting to vomit
but staying in the room.
expecting the dizzy-spin discomfort
of trying,
and not calling it the devil,
not calling yourself unable to cope,
but calling in your resilience
that's bigger than even hope.
we will break--
everything we adore and despise
and ache for and create will break--
but we will get stronger at making love
in the dazzling chards of reality
one infinite breath at a time,
and that is more than enough.
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