[Author: Our very own Director of Yoga & Yoga Teacher, Pamela!]
I lay in my bath with the full moon peeking at me through the trees and I’m reminded of what Bjork said once, “I never really understood the word ‘loneliness’. As far as I was concerned, I was in an orgy with the sky and the ocean, and with nature.” I just want to hold on to this moment. Shinrin yoku. Immersed in pond, forest and sky simultaneously. The power of the wind whooshes through the bathroom windows and it places me in the stillness of all I am immersed in. I rub the epsom salt water all over my face so I can feel the extra cool, salty veneer as the wind dries it. I mourn all the years I denied myself this ecstasy. If I am not willing to commit to the stillness, then I can’t sense the nature orgy.
I hate commitment. I like to escape. I think things don’t apply to me. I’m an exempt feral pixie. I can make things appear and disappear with my pixie dust. *POOF * “Yes, I’ll marry you.” *POOF* No, I don’t wear underwear. *POOF* “I made sourdough bread black with charcoal!” *POOF* “No, you will not cut him out of me!”
On a whim swimmingly I float. I wonder if it wasn’t just the anxiety, depression, the chaos I allowed my life to be, but also chemical and physical. I held my body small. I squeezed myself into restrictive undergarments. I tucked my tail with confidence and vigor thanks to Anusara Yoga. I swallowed those hormone pills so I could be
“free” to copulate without consequence whenever I pleased. I was not free. My
pelvic floor was a flaccid, flabbing shut door. I was constipated. My kundalini had never been awake. I had dark and heavy thoughts when I lay down at night.
I had many things I desired. I thought I was happy…sometimes. But I didn’t trust any of my senses, or instincts, or wisdom, or decisions. I wanted all accountability to be placed on others. No, I was NOT ANGRY, I was numb/immune/naive/blind.
The osmotic transfer of hot epsom salt water into the pores of my skin. What is the exchange of body-fluid-fluid-body like? They tell me I should rub DEET on my skin to keep the blood-suckers away, just keep it off my mucus membranes. But in the same breath they tell me epsom salts will soak into my skin to soothe my sore muscles. Does it exchange or doesn’t it??Are they automatically assuming that my skin is dumb? That it can’t discern what is useful to it and what isn’t? Or is it extremely smart and it will reject anything that your research deems toxic and absorb what is “Generally Recognized As Safe”? They make no sense to me. I swallowed hormone pills and they told me “You should get the patch instead, then you don’t have to remember to take medication at the same hour each day.” …so my skin IS smart then?!
The hot water has lost its exciting edge of heat so I turn on the tap to re-ignite the warmth. The all-encompassing water hug finds every mound and crevice of my body to exert equal even pressure. I am held. I can surrender. I let it in my mouth. I feel dangerous after telling my son over and over, “Bath water is not for drinking!” I get to break the rules because I own them. I see the moon in its fullest face. I absorb all the molecules of moonlight trickling through the water, targeting all my fuzzy edges.
Have I taken on water yet? I close my eyes to feel the moonbeams on my eyelids and fantasize about humping the moon. Ooooh, it’s smoother than I imagined…but not TOO smooth. My skin is so beautiful when it takes on water. I admire my languid toes as I remove the moon from my pubis. No pill will define MY relationship with the moon. I’ll loosen my grip on time as it passes and let the moon hold it for me.