Sensual Savasana

In my yoga practice, I am strong.

My practice is perfect for me.
It is not still, it is not characteristic of idealized balance.
—Perhaps stillness is idealized, but stillness is boring.

My practice is dynamic.
The sweat on my brow shows that my body is working.
The shaking of my limbs proves that I’m growing—that I’m alive.
My practice is beautifully flawed, and I would have it no other way.

The harder I work, the more delicious my surrender into Savasana.
My body melts into a beautiful collapse.
The lingering remnants of my practice echo as I lie on my mat.
With each exhale, the kinks from my practice untangle themselves.

My body is warm.
My body is whole.
Thoughts gradually find rest in the ebb and flow of my pulse.
My body is home.

Does not everyone feel such sensual connection to themselves after exertion—is this a secret that only some bodies have the pleasure of knowing? I’ve never heard of such discussed among friends.

After my first yoga practice, I felt embarrassed. In a very public space, my body offered me such a great pleasure in itself. Not a new body experience, the pleasure of exertion, but new in its public visibility. I could feel the warm flush in my face as I embraced myself in fetal position and climbed out of Savasana … suggestive of being young, vulnerable, small … wishing that the darkness and quiet could conceal me just a little longer.

As I became more comfortable in my practice, I learned to love Savasana more and more.
So comfortable that I, *gasp,* took my hair out of its ponytail—deliberately!
When I finally started to release my ponytail for Savasana, part of my grew self-conscious, fearing it sexually tempting to have my hair down.



Holy smokes.

But it just feels so good, so natural; it’s another part of me that I can release.
I sometimes wonder, now, why I feared being seen this way—loving my body.
Is it so bad to slowly draw my limbs through my Asanas with the artful aesthetics seen only in dancers?
Is it so bad to sigh in pleasure and to grunt in discomfort? To let myself be seen being human and delighting in my body?

I still have body/modesty fears, sure. Many, still.
It would be awesome, though, if I could learn to see these and my other fears as senseless to hold onto.

I only have one body … I think I’m finally beginning to discover how to love it.

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