But after an hour of long holds in poses called cobra, locust, cow and camel, I felt like a caged beast with fangs and poisoned breath and hooves itching to bash in a skull.
My rage shocked me. It reminded me of my former scary fluency with temper tantrums and that I should probably not drive home yet.
So I breathed. And remembered that I am smarter than my rage. But not as smart as my anger, that sly creature skilled with needle and thread.
To help me heal.
If I let it.