Ode to Savasana

Yesterday I had a beautiful yoga class. The boundaries of my body are moving outward inch by inch and I can feel myself getting stronger. When it came time Savasana—the pose where you lay there like a corpse and just breathe—I was in my bliss.

In a Bikram yoga class, Savasana comes at a time when you are sure you are going to either spontaneously combust from the heat or drown in your own sweat. It is at that near breaking point that mercifully you get to stop, lay down for two minutes, and just breathe.

It’s harder than you’d think. You want to fidget, bend your knees, wipe sweat out of your eyes and do a dozen different things, but that is not your job in that moment. Your job is to lay still and breathe.

My Savasana yesterday was incredible. The sun was shining and through my sweat-clouded eyes everything was sparkly and I just breathed deeply and . . . relaxed. So good.

If I could paint, I would paint that moment. But, alas, I am not a painter. I am a writer. And so I offer this: a haiku in honor of this most minimalist pose.

Oh Savasana
My sweat-stunned body rests, at last
I have found my breath

Patience

God’s been working on my patience since probably birth. There has never been a shortage of “time challenged” people in my life. It is typically those closest to my heart who make me wait, turning me into a slightly less crazy and more patient person—at approximately the same rate as water carves through rock.

Over the years I have developed certain coping mechanisms like lying about starting times and inching clocks ahead a few minutes . . . I don’t want to give away my whole bag of tricks here, let’s just say it’s a very large and deep bag.

So . . . I sometimes think God sent me to the city because, well, you can’t manipulate a whole city. The bag of tricks isn’t big enough to goad 8 million people to do things on schedule. I can’t ensure that a sick passenger in the train ahead of me doesn’t stop all the trains on the route. I can’t make the hordes of tourists make way for a late local. I can’t fix the fact that it takes me about an hour to get anywhere on public transportation from my “affordable” neighborhood in Brooklyn.

I think I’m a few iotas more patient than I was when I moved here five years ago, but I still get caught up with the rush. I forget about God’s timing.

I foolishly think that I’m still in control. That, if it’s perfectly reasonable in today’s society to have 24 hour customer service, then why can’t God just get on with it and give me what I’m asking for? It’s not a whole lot, just a husband, 2.5 children, a well-balanced work and home life, and financial freedom . . . seriously, I’d be happy with one . . .well maybe two or three items on that list.

Some of it— possibly all of it—will come to pass. But it won’t be on my time or New York’s time, but in God’s time . . . kairos time. It’s when some minutes are made up of agonizing seconds or when whole days and years seem to go too fast with too little to show for them. But, it’s also the fullness God’s perfect timing—something that those of us who can’t gain perspective on all of eternity know nothing about.

Patience . . . Michelle . . . Patience . . .