One of the attractions of hot yoga has been that it exhausts my waking mind so much that portions of my ...
well, I guess less conscious mind?
comes out to play.
So, I'm lying in savasana (ironically, corpse pose) where you lay on your back, arms at your side, palms up, heels touching, toes relaxed.
Between drowning in the humidity and heat, between the pain from moving through the poses, and the always present pain of the ripping loss of my heart....
I was so hot I lifted my tank top up, baring my belly. I don't do this. I don't like showing myself in the yoga class. No matter how hot, I don't do this.
I said to M, if you're really here, touch my belly.
M loved my belly. He would lay his head on it, we would talk about what it would have been like if we had children together. He would lay his hand on belly, trailing his fingers across it...
So, i felt the touch. I felt his fingers trailing across my belly, like he used to.
It ain't much, but it's all I have now.