Savasana
Lying on my mat lightly breathing with
my body feeling heavy sinking and
weighted down on a non existent floor.
I feel tear drops peaking out when
hands press down on my shoulders--are
my hands softly slipping under these hands?
I massage the palms with my thumbs then
softly slip away like a breath and a caress and
my fingertips too drift away, back to my sides.
I am imagining that it is the end of life and
I am nearing heaven--but not quite yet for
there is too much to do, but less and less.
My lists vaporize, I faintly hear the bells of
the music that surrounds us all beating a
slow steady rhythm calling me inward.
I see tableaus, pictures gone by and
albumen images of the past stalking me on
my closed eye lids—sifting in and out.
Still images of moments fade into view while
I breathe in very, very slowly and let it out just
as slack and easy, for now I have no arms or legs.
I hope it will be like this:
melting away or
heavy and weightless, so very tired that
you really don’t care if you breathe or live or die.
Nonetheless, now I shall float away into
that distant beacon of bright light by
choice, because I can and it is dark here.
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