Soft light. The kind that drapes across skin and wood and eyelashes like vintage lace, delicate, and faded white. It fills the room and nudges our skin, causing a healthy rose-colored glow. I’m here to do yoga, but more so, to remember my body and what it feels like to be present inside of it.

Blonde hair cascades down the arc of her head and leaps into the easy arms of gravity pooling below. The waterfall of hair hangs frozen in the air with the tips just barely grazing the purple yoga mat underneath. Her legs form a triangle with the mat as its base. With a single movement, her hamstrings tighten, pulling her pelvis toward the back of the room, while her torso melts forward over the fold of her hips. Two delicate wrists lay crossed over one another a few inches in front of her face. Her upturned palms look like faces gazing at the sunlight-bathed ceiling.

We breathe.

Let the thoughts fall, the voices tumble out, the tight spots stretch, the heavy heart sink to mother earth. Surrender. You are held here. You are safe. Nowhere else to be, nothing else to do.

We breathe.

I glance at her hands again, open to the world, and feel the calm emanate from her body — emanate from my own — and I want, for just one moment in time, everyone on this earth to experience that sort of bliss, that sort of surrender. It’s a powerful feeling.



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