Sometimes I can feel my bones straining under the weight of my thoughts. And that’s wrong, all wrong, so I strain more in the down dog position, where my arms and wrists and shoulders take on the weight of my trunk.
My trunk. What a word for my body, which is pack full of multi-grain toast now at 9 in the morning, as well as three cups of hot green tea that have not found a way to warm my fingers, cold down to the bone.
My bones. I imagine my bones are light as a skeleton, while the rest of me – my muscles, my blood, my skin – is too heavy for what lies within.
Is there such a thing as light thoughts?
A light thought – um what’s for dinner tonight, is that light enough? But then I worry about going to the grocery store and wearing my winter gloves as I clinch the shopping cart with one hand while clasping a small bottle of sanitizer with the other, trying to stay six feet away from all the other harried shoppers.
See? Weighty worrisome thoughts.
Light, light, ummm,
As light as my earlobes are, and as light as my soul as it flits about daintily at times when I’m happy (like walking in the hot sun, or hugging a warm grandbaby), my thoughts seem to never be light.
Even here, I wonder heavily. Is child’s pose a giving up? Or is child’s pose a giving in to gravity?
And is gravity the reason our thoughts are so heavy?
So I give up and just sit. Release my thoughts to “the cloud.” Not that cloud. An imaginative cloud that lightly floats away with the heavy thoughts and replaces them with a light sparkly shower of glimmering thoughts:
“The sun is out.” My new grandpuppy is as sweet as hope.” “The bread I’m baking smells divine.” “Flowers are blooming yellow, pink, purple!”
Ah, yes. That’s better I decide as I float toward a happier, less weighty space.