1
Tonight’s yoga practice
began with me coming off a long day and being too tired to want to go, but deciding that’s why I needed to go. Haha.
I wasn’t as weak-exhausted as I thought I’d feel during sun-salutation warm-ups, but instead found that I had this thrilling calm control since I wasn’t all wound up from the day’s stress (there was stress; I just decided not to let it stick).
And some delicious openness in my joints. My shoulders would be so messed up if it wasn’t for a regular practice.
Overall, it just feels so indescribably GOOD to give it as much shit as you’ve got while you’re on that mat, and then just melt into the floor after you’ve washed all the rest of everything away in a giant whoosh of breath.
;)
syncho̱retheí [a poem, 2012]
had a dream that I fell through a doorway and landed in a bed of tattered blankets and dusty leaves. suddenly the bed disintegrated and I was sitting on the forest floor, with stones and moss and branches around me, and I saw a flickering light between the trees
so I rose and traveled towards it, floating above the forest debris. it kept going deeper and deeper into the darkness and mist, which I hardly noticed because I was bent on following it. I pushed past branches and bracken
and the woods grew thicker until I thought I would get ensnared in the grabbing hands of the trees
but then, it opened into a clearing, and I was able to breathe. I searched for the light, standing on my own two feet
but it was nowhere to be seen. I fell to my knees
in despair and pounded the ground with my fists. they came up bloodied and full of earth. I tried to wipe them on my shirt but they would not come clean
until You approached out of nowhere and kissed me gently
pushing the tears from my cheeks with Your thumbs and holding me tight with Your gaze, so peaceful and deep.
once again, I found I couldn’t breathe. You took my torn hands in Your own and said the most beautiful words to me:
“I have forgiven you already.”
and my heart was sparkling clean.
A. E. Montana
I’ve witnessed firsthand the power of ideas. I’ve seen people kill in the name of them; and die defending them. But you cannot kill an idea, cannot touch it or hold it. Ideas do not bleed, it cannot feel pain, and it does not love. And it is not an idea that I miss, it is a man.
—Evey, from ‘V for Vendetta’ (2006)
Today has been beautiful, in its own way.
Got enough sleep. Haha. Caught up on lovin’ all my 4-legged buddies at home, and then worked a super-quick shift before hot (HOT) yoga, where I discovered much more flexibility and openness than I’ve had in a while! Whoo! Heart-to-hearts and a gorgeous sunset. I am content.
IN HINDSIGHT [a poem, 2012]
did you really think it was going to last?
could you even see past your obsession
and the thrill of acceptance?
just because you start out as soulmates
doesn’t mean that soulmate was meant
to be solely yours
to walk next to your whole life.
is it possible you were given a chance
to care for them until they were ready for someone else?
does anyone really ask these questions
of themselves?
A. E. Montana
[From my journals, 2012]
Remember how you were when I first found you. Did I not love you even then, before you acknowledged or loved Me?
See, I have loved you before you were lovable. I love you enough to claim you as you are, but I love you far too much to let you stay that way.
Let My love change you. Let it soften your heart to see others as I do. Listen to Me, and let Me show you who you are in My sight.
For I have sacrificed the most valuable possession I have, paid the highest price, devised the most perfect plan to win you as My own.
Could I have won you any other way, without forsaking My own being? And yet, I willingly gave up My own power so that My plan could be fulfilled. Truly, there was no other way, for it destroyed the door that separated you from Me.
When will you learn to realize that only by losing yourself in Me will you ever find yourself?
A. E. Montana
NOSTALGIE [a poem, 2012]
they’ve been looking
so long
they’ve wanted someone to love
as much as they love each other
years have passed
finally matching
the picture they had, open-minded, in their heads
ready to bring that beautiful little girl home
and yet
the timing’s not right
things like this take time
so they prepare
and paint walls and iron sheets
and hang curtains and straighten toys
still, left hanging
so they daydream about her
and how they will bring her home
and walk her into this room
she will be able to call her own
the walks to the park
running around, games in the yard
first day of school
meeting grandparents, opening presents
laughter and little feet
filling the house with life
not yet
the ache grows stronger
it’s hard to keep believing
that something so good
something so incredibly right
will finally come to pass someday
as they pray every morning
that the call will come
they’ve got their bags packed
ready to leave at the last second
every morning when he leaves
another day she waits alone
for him to come home
and she sits
in the bedroom
bright, cheery colors that make her eyes water
with the dolls watching
she folds over in tears
holding a little bowl in her hands
full of tiny ponytails
and hairclips
(Based on a true story.)
A. E. Montana
