The Distraction

After a tussle with Kurmasana, I heaved a brief, barely audible sigh. 

Untangling my arms from under, I let my legs fall out to the sides. I sat there gazing into the puddle of morning sweat, visibly overwhelmed by the same things that I would go on to do almost every morning. I killed the vinyasa right there in its tracks and paused to breathe a little while longer but not too long to elicit unwanted attention. 

Not much progress. Still struggling with it.

Supta Kurmasana, it's awful sibling, was up next and I repeated it thrice; first, to get the bind of the hands as I would never catch them on the first try. Second, was for the failed attempt to cross the ankles after getting the hands to bind, if no one came to my rescue - in fact, I hoped no one would offer me this gesture of kindness, as I believed that I could get those done by my own effort in a matter of tries, unless it was Teacher. Last, was for successfully getting both checked before breathing for five agonizing counts as a reward for finally getting there. 

The sweat interfered with my eyes. The salty crystal beads clouded my vision, though, not that it stung as much as the dullness of self-reproach and self-pity that I was ensnared in. With the body still battered from the exit of the pose and mula bandha near to depletion, I jumped through with whatever remaining grace that I still carried and wiped away those beads from my eyes before embarking on the next few postures.

Why? You weak and useless!

"J, relax your arms. Relax. Good. Now, relax the legs, pull lightly forward. Good. I noticed that when you tighten your quadriceps, it stops you from bending forward... Keep the sternum lifted, find the edge. Good."

The footsteps trailed away. The distraction had fulfilled its purpose.

Thank you.