Something happened in last night's class. Deep in a pigeon pose approached from a different angle, I was able to approach a pose that usually causes me strife by sinking into its layers, breathing into the depths of the muscles, finding tightness. At one point I saw the decorative molding of my Montreal home's front door, so very clearly; I saw the corner down the street, where Elmwood hits Wiseman. Corners, squares, hips. It was such depth even though I found myself with much internal chatter all through class, feeling places of strain and ache and pull more acutely and loudly than before.
And this morning, I woke up in a swirling cloud of energy, I could feel it in my abdomen, in my belly. Light, heat. It's a weird space to enter, uncomfortable, ugly, brambled. And I kept exploring, kept getting nowhere. Breathing into the energy as it surged. A cleaning?
And this evening's yoga class, almost immediately in a trusted space, I dropped into that mindspace of dreams, unfocused darting eyes, a quivering energy. It returned at the end of class in savasana, that pulsing energy, in my forehead, in my chest, in my belly. An energy that is there and existent but non-descript. Going deeper into a room with no space. Call it a searing savasana, call it whatever you want, I just know that the energy becomes fascinating, exploring a depth beyond the body but within it. Unleashing, exploring, this body and this mind are wondrous.