It is raining and it will persist for days, I had this pang of yolk inside me that had to come here and take a big eyefull, big as I can manage, of the grey mist and white-capped sea.
Beth's yoga practice is so strong since I last was here, I tell her this but it is hard for me to vocalize it because the tears are raised in my chest. I haven't had a practice since I left, that was five years ago, too long to go that unrooted. She guides us to set an intention in the beginning of class and I almost laugh out loud because it is so clearly aimed at me~whether or not she meant it, she did. She is my sister, we speak that way. She is dear friend.
She knows what I came here with, what she took me to the labryinth with, what came out the other side. We haven't talked much of it, she hasn't forced or asked. She knows it's him.
And that's what it is, the difference. How strong her practice is, you can tell in her manner in class. It's all different: it's all shakti, it's all us as womyn, as grace as our selves full fruiting in our 30's, secure in our root system, owning what we have to own, what I mean when I keep talking to her all high about my obsession with full womanly ass. How good it feels to be my own. It's Anusara for her and watching her radiate as she comes in to her own. It's believing in roots, and truth, in reconvening with my vision, the willingness she eases me towards of letting go and the best is yet to be for me. I feel so good, so strong when it is done. So strong, but like she says and teaches soft, and open to what I was holding inside.
She gets off at two so I go to stare at the sea and wait. Drops of rain are all over the windsheild, drops of rain hit my face through the open pane.
What do you feel like doing?
Nothing, I answered myself. Listening to the wind.
Call you later, I text her. Going to bed, I need rest.
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