On why I almost always cry after yoga class

I have been working on this poem in my head for a long time.  It's been a hard one to get down on paper, mostly because I DO almost always cry after yoga class, and because it's taken me a while to figure out the Why and the How To Say It and the How To Poem It.

If you know me, you probably know that I have migraines, and you probably know that they're pretty ridiculous lately.  Lately, in particular, they have made me struggle with being in my body, and my relationship with my body...mostly because I'm just kinda pissed about it.  Finding ways of being present with, behind, alongside, and around the migraine stuff is something I'm working with all the time, but particularly in yoga.  It's not easy.  It is helpful, when I can figure it out.  And it's not easy.

And, those pesky emotions we hold on to -- this speaks equally to them, doesn't it?  Pain is not, of course, only physical.  I think this speaks to both.  

On why I almost always cry after yoga class

Living in this body is like being held hostage in a place

I have been evicted from.

I know I'm not welcome

have nowhere else to go

cannot physically leave and yet this

is the place I call home.

Unyielding tyrant -

Pain sneaks tension into the tiny crevices.

Frustration, resentment,

hatred turn inward,

this body becomes

battle ground,

war zone,

unpredictable fun house mirror --

how do you feel at home here

when it feels the house

is crumbling?

But yoga reminds me there is no tyrant holding me in

this sealed envelope of a body.

Yoga breathes open the seal like

perennial forget-me-not blooming in my heart like

green growing forgiveness like

gentle opening of love letter from

long lost lover --

tender

even in the most aching of places, saying:

Baby.

Make room.

Breathe into the ache and pause

in the painful places. It is here

that the beautiful

shines through.

Unpack your bags.

Take off your coat.

This body was built for you

and your love--

it is big enough to hold the pain-

you are made of space

and stars, don't shrink,

take, hold, be, imagine --

everything.

And sweetheart,

holding breath is not the way to breathe.

Tensing muscles is not the way to stretch, and crumbling

is not always breaking but a way

of coming together with a space

for sunlight

yoga

does not take away the pain, it merely

makes holes for the sunlight

so breathe

and crumble

and let the sunshine through --

Darling.

You can't hate your body and live fully inside it.

Can't resent your body and welcome yourself home.

Can't live in your body with your heart and not

explode from your chest with love, and sunlight--

Listen. 

Love, I am telling you:

soften around the pain.

It is not your captor,

you are not at war, this

is your body.

Your good body.

It is ever breathing you

gently

home.