For the Yoga Impaired

I recently decided my schedule would be stable enough to purchase a gym membership to one pool (yes, folks – one!). They informed me that not only did I have access to the pool and to all the various devices in the Medieval Torture Chamber, but any classes I want to take are also included. And they offer yoga. I’ve done yoga before, but I’ve never been to a yoga class. I’m a swimmer. Yoga is good for us! I was excited about this and determined to go.


The day arrived and I showed up early. I introduced myself to the instructor and informed her that it was my first time in a yoga class. She was very nice to me, telling me to just do what I could do and rest if I couldn’t do something.

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A Portrait and A Memory

I was early.  The swim team was still swimming strong.  5 or 6 kids to a lane, crowded in.  They moved in perfect coordination.  It reminded me of a dance scene from a musical.  Motion: fluid, steady, consistent, orchestrated motion.  Back and forth.  The vaulted ceiling of the pool room was catholic in nature; bespeaking some awe-inspiring holiness.

I was impressed, catching my breath.  Awed.  By the swimmers.  By the surroundings.

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Of all the people you might have chosen, I will never understand why you picked me.  But I think you got a good deal.

Every time you spoke, I took your words.  I took them all for myself.  They are the words that you chose, after all.  Because they probably worked for you.  Or you are hopeful they will work for me.  They have a shape and a color and command.  The tone is as much a part of the meaning as anything else.  Pictures, feelings, sensations, impressions; these strange symbols strung together in sentences barely do the water justice.

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