Poem – the Asanas
2005-03-26— Posted by: allegra
I have a friend who has spent a very long team healing herself from a traumatic childhood and a troubled adolescence. Part of her healing process has been yoga. Asana means pose or posture.
Asana one white spikes of bone stick out of the lawn arrange yourself so that you can sit among them breathe and be at peace Asana two bones are like that alive, dead they bruise and splinter scatter marrow fertilize the slow and frantic arrange yourself so that you take them as your deepest camouflage Asana three throughout the canon there is nothing like this you must find this posture out and teach it you will not return harm for harm the lifestream says can you hear your higher self calling in the posture, as in a trance you hear yourself -my machine took the message- spirit shook awake and said it doesn't matter, and in the stretching muscles you encompass and reveal the world, a boy who had no bris a girl who had no canopy a woman who had no mother pause and breathe Asana four forego motion, load yourself with oxygen and energy awareness beckons from behind the tv and the rushing to work the sirens, all the punctuation for the living word of you teaching with an open mind you learn how limits dissolve and reform like traumatized bone fast damage and slow healing geologic healing, sometimes every cell knows where to be it doesn't have to think envy the body all its power it never has to think you call and mostly it responds arrange your bones so that the body's will is that of your quiet mind Asana five upward the inward alchemical, the spirit can transmute the split and spoiled the burnt bone of our ancestors the little-bits of flint we knap ourselves in the lap of life we see the tool inside the rock now remnant by the fire of memory this posture is for making tools so that we may build the land we love Asana six lost on a page lost in thought indeed there are places I can name that I don't want to visit any more but they live inside of me as if I never left them some wounds never heal, there is no cure for the death of love, no pretty closure but to set the maggots on the wound and hope they know when to stop behind my eyes in the hands that long to hold yours once again in my chest in my shoulders pain comes through in bouts of helpless weeping lost in self pity wanting to damage the brain that injures me so yet seeing the flowers from the window hearing someone giggle I come to it is time to sit again