Extended Side Angle

It’s when my front thigh burns like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

I could possibly suffer.  Or make up chittings and chattings that lead me to suffer.  Or comment on how I’m suffering.  Then each pose is a mad house, a padded van, a straight jacket.  Rightly so.  Make my mind no more than an empty tomb.  My mind no more.  Mind no.            .

The space a saving grace from which I am free from reacting.  Reacting to my thoughts.  Reacting.  I can be.  I can see life pulsing.  I can see cells transforming.  I can see the present because I’m in it.

Not in yesterday.

You’re pulling from the bones.  You’re reaching.  That you may snap like a glo-stick and be flooded with fluorescent light.  I can hardly look.  The light.

That’s why you stay.  When you think you’d rather not.  That’s why you set ablaze.