Yoga

~*~a love letter to yoga~*~

My darling, sweet Yoga,

I don't think there are enough words

but I'll try my hardest

to show you how I feel.

Nine long years ago. Some friends suggested I meet you during my first year of teaching as a way to be active during the winter months in a small group setting that was convenient, considering that first year I was at school until all hours of the night.

I fell in 'like' with you then. I liked how you gave me back some of the flexibility and muscle I had lost after playing soccer. I liked how you made me feel calm and in control. And I liked the bonds you helped create between me and my fellow teachers.

But alas, it was not meant to be then. We drifted apart. I had other new, lovely things to fill my time with, and you slowly faded into a sweet memory.

Over these last years, I've toyed with rebuilding our relationship.  I've dipped my toe in, tried to find you on many different mats and in many different faces and voices.

Last year, I caught a glimpse of you, in the flesh. I began looking for you every day, my heart caught up again in the hope and dream of a rekindling. Several times I lost you, and then found you again. But, again, we drifted apart.

And then my world fell apart.

I'll spare you every detail, because now that we've found each other again you know all my details, every last one. But the end of 2017 found me in the trauma emergency room of a hospital states away from home, holding my father's hand, wishing and hoping and making promises. He was millimeters away from paralysis or death, but instead, walked out of the hospital the next night - the night we would ring in 2018.

And so I began 2018 by piecing my world back together, a few bumps and bruises, but not too worse for wear.

Mere days after settling in back home after such a traumatic ordeal, your face came to me, loud and clear. One of those promises that I had made while holding my dad's hand was that I was going to take care of myself. And then there you were, peering up at me from my computer screen. A simple click and we were connected again.

Three weeks after that incident, we met again for the third 'first time' - and this time it was more than 'like'. I was smitten. I looked forward to our next date a week later. And week after week, we would meet, spend an hour together - simply breathing and being and shedding and strengthening.

And then my world fell apart again.

On an oddly warm and sunny Wednesday, I received the worst phone call of my life. The phone call that takes your breath away and you wish you had never answered because then it would have never happened and life would be the same. But instead, Christopher was gone. Just like that. Gone. Nothing made sense. The family came together and wept and prayed and wept again. 

The next day, we were supposed to see each other. I wasn't sure I was up for it. I wanted to be with my family. But I decided to show, thinking I could explain the situation and leave if needed.

I've never been more happy with a decision. That's the night I fell in love.

I fell in love when you allowed me to use my body and my mind to process what I was feeling. When you allowed my breathing to calm me, to steady my hands and my feet and my heart. When you created a warm, strong glow around me when I was feeling such deep sorrow and grief. When you helped me to feel when I had been so numb.

And then I pieced my world back together yet again, a few more bumps and bruises, and one missing piece, but not too worse for wear.

And so it continued from there, week by week. Each week we would meet, and you would be all I could think about for days leading up to our meeting. Knowing you'd be there for me. Knowing how I'd feel after we parted. I began to want to see you more often.

And then, abruptly, you were gone. We hadn't planned any more meetings and suddenly I was without you. 

But you tricked me, sweet yoga, you had me going. Instead of being gone, you showed up in a new place, a place we hadn't visited before. You showed up with sweet scents and calming sounds and gentle heat.

And when my world would fall apart again a few weeks later, when my mother was in the hospital with heart problems, and then again a few days after that when we found out the home we rent would be put on the market in June, you were there for me. Your sweet scents and calming sounds and gentle heat drew me in, until one day a week seeing each other was just not enough. 

I realized I needed you. Not just to help me piece my life back together, to rebuild me when I fall apart. But to be me. I need you to be me. Does that make sense? You help me feel whole, even when I'm not. Even when pieces are blowing around like a hat caught in the wind, I feel me, I feel whole.

I'll never be able to repay you for helping me to be me. It's priceless. But what I can do is thank you, and stay by your side, and never ever forget what you've done for me these last few months, where it has felt like the world is falling apart on a daily basis. It almost has, but I've had you to help me along the way.

From every inch of my heart, from every breath in my lungs, 

thank you.

❤Ashley