When Yoga Found Me

 

When Yoga found me, I was shattered; 

recently widowed and bursting with grief

Drinking too much… sleeping too little… 

spending far too much time by myself

Not sure if I was coming or already gone

 

When Yoga found me, I was angry; 

angry at God for taking my husband

Angry at my husband for leaving me

Angry at me for letting him go

 

When Yoga found me, I was trapped; 

a prisoner to my memories

My husband died a hundred times over in my dreams. 

 Then, the others… one by one

Death was inescapable, even in sleep

 

When Yoga found me, I was alone; 

incapable of tolerating the company of others

Their petty little issues

Their perfect little lives

 

When Yoga found me, I was exhausted; 

worn thin by responsibilities

So much to do in the cruel aftermath of an unplanned death

Waters uncharted; left to navigate alone

 

When Yoga found me, I was lost; 

teetering on the edge of an empty nest with no wings to fly

“It’s too soon,” I thought. “She’s not ready for this.”

Truth be told… I wasn’t ready

 

When Yoga found me, I was stuck; 

unable to break free from the grip of my previous life

Petrified to take just one step forward into my new existence

Afraid of what would become of me

 

And just like that, I hit rock bottom. 

 I hated my new life. I needed to do something

 

I stepped into the studio with my ten dollar mat

I kept my head down; my gaze to the floor. “Leave me alone,” I thought

“Where are the tissues?” I questioned. 

 “Why are there no tissues in this God forsaken place?”

“What am I even doing here? I don’t even like Yoga.”

 

And there, on the mat, I cried. And cried. And cried some more

 

As I had hoped, they left me alone

I didn’t need tissues after all; the mat soaked up all of my tears

And surprisingly, I fell completely and unabashedly in love with Yoga

And soon, I understood precisely why I was there

 

When Yoga found me, I was saved

 

When will Yoga find you?

 

Leslie Gray