After grief bulldozed my heart for months, I finally and reluctantly signed up for a special heart-opening yoga class. I expected to feel a little Valentine-y.
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.
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.
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