"Let yourself melt away," she instructs the class. We abide and melt away. She walks across the studio, stops, dims the lights, and walks back to the front. "And breathe."
Melting away feels funny and it tickles my stomach. I'm seeping into the cushions of my flat mat and boiling through the wood floor like acid--- all the while, breathing rhythmically, in tune with the rest of the class.
"Clear your head." Our heads are clear.
"On your next exhale, I want you to fall even deeper, and melt away even more."
We melt like popsicles. And this is nothingness. Peaceful, good old nothingness.
Melting away feels funny and it tickles my stomach. I'm seeping into the cushions of my flat mat and boiling through the wood floor like acid--- all the while, breathing rhythmically, in tune with the rest of the class.
"Clear your head." Our heads are clear.
"On your next exhale, I want you to fall even deeper, and melt away even more."
We melt like popsicles. And this is nothingness. Peaceful, good old nothingness.
No comments:
Post a Comment