I feel asleep last night at 8pm and slept soundly for 10 hours. As I woke from that deep sleep the sky was turning from dark indigo blue to pale blue with streaks of pink and yellow, rays of sun spilling over the mountain before the sun itself appears. I turned off the air (its unseasonably hot here) and opened up windows and doors to let in the early morning cool. I threw on my yoga attire, spread out the mat, and started the DVD, AM Yoga. I lay on the mat, calm breath, calm breeze. I think, I haven’t seen another spider or any other living critter since the fatal meeting yesterday, so I think I can close my eyes.
Twenty minutes of gentle postures work the tightness out of my lower back and shoulders. Twenty minutes of slow movement stretching my body awake. Twenty minutes later I lay on the floor, breathing. An invitation to meditate. An invitation to quiet. It’s perfect.
Except inside of me, I am restless, not calm. Tears well up, but like the parched desert I am dry.
After yoga I read the NY Times article about the journalist who spent 7 months and 10days in Taliban captivity. I remember when Ryan was in the Army, stationed in this same area. I remember him telling us about the daily bombings to the army base, his constant fear. The heat, 120 degrees. The article will appear over several editions of the NY Times, which I may read online…. I go to breakfast, yogurt and a banana and coffee with honey and skim milk. I return and read and color mandalas.
And do more yoga. An hour this time. Strenuous. The room is getting hot. I close the door and window and turn on the air. And take a shower. Lunch is quiet, too. A salad with a side of salted nuts and raisins and iced tea. I return to my room and color the mandala some more.
The sun is blazing hot, the sky cloudless pale blue, 97 degrees, probably.
My spirit is restless. I think I’ll take a walk. Perhaps the hot sun will dry the restlessness out of me, leaving me parched, but quiet?