The Fall

In shivasana, I fall.

I don’t have a parachute and I don’t care.

My eyes are closed and my lips are smiling.

I fall through dimensions and I’m no longer a newspaper reporter and I don’t have to think about what I am covering tomorrow or who I am interviewing.

There is only the fall.

The others are falling too. Into their mats. We fall together in formation.

She walks among us. In her bare feet on the wooden floor.

She helps us fall. I can hear her step behind my head. Her hands press into my shoulders and I fall faster and I smile wider and I breathe deep and my bladder is near my eye.

The only god I worship is my yoga instructor.

In shivasana, I fall.

 

How can I fall today? How can I fall now?

I come straight from the city council meeting. My fake life is too vivid, too real, too fresh. It still occupies my head. How am I supposed to explain everything? There are experts on everything and I know nothing. All I know how to do is ask questions. There is just too much too much history that I walked in on too much I don’t know and I am supposed to be the gate keeper I have a duty a responsibility. All of my sources are sitting here all the people I quote and someone says my story wasn’t very clear but I did my best I can’t explain everything. Life is complicated.

I’m trying to fall. But I can’t connect. Can someone turn me off and then turn me back on again?

There is too much information to sift through and my head hurts.

My physical body fees rejuvenated. My legs are relaxed my shoulders are down but my head was left behind. Someone grab it for me. Screw it back on.

In shivasana, I am supposed to fall.

Why can’t I fall tonight?

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