Honestly not sure what I did before.
Before I could push open that big wooden door.
Walk into that room; a sensory feat.
Lacking in light, and bursting with heat.
Roll out my mat, lay on the floor.
My shavasana is weak, my SI joint is sore.
Try to relax, be mindful but absent…?
Break down each thought into the tiniest fragment.
And then push them away. So easy to do.
When you live in a house that’s much like a zoo.
Actually, a zoo is cleaner and the tenants less energetic.
So, let’s do this asana flow and get cathartically kinetic.
Roll onto your right side and take child’s pose.
Downward dog, high plank, knee to your nose.
Two minutes in and my tank top is saturated.
Ten minutes in and my neighbour has audibly flatulated.
I get that though. Lots of abdominal compression.
But farting isn’t as bad as chronic depression.
So, float forward girl! Chaturanga! And upward face your dog!
Aren’t you happy I’m writing poetry instead of a blog?
The sweat on my arms is beading and rolling.
My knees slide off my elbows when I try silently crowing.
Dude next to me, chill. I see that you’re jacked.
But your panting and grunting are wont to distract.
I came here to breathe, dammit. In through my nose.
I came here to fold forward and touch my damn toes.
I came for the sound of bare feet on bamboo floors.
I came to expel toxins from all of my pores.
High plank and lower for a count of five.
(I’ll be fine)
(Cold glass of wine)
Sink into the mat and right ear to the ground.
Hear hearts through the floor as they slow and they pound.
Its hot. I can’t breathe, but I know I should stay.
Final Shavasana? Screw it. I’m out. Namaste.
About the Author:
Heather is a regular student with Moksha, mostly at our Dundas location. She has been practicing with us since 2015 and loves herself a challenging flow class. She wrote this poem about Moksha and her experience and submitted it to Elephant Journal: https://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/08/ode-to-hot-yoga-poem/