Well, it is Tuesday. I leave Friday night. I started cleaning up the room that I have called home for the last seven weeks. This routine feels familiar. You start my making the piles, piles of trash, piles of laundry, piles of all the things that you will give to those who are staying on, piles of the clothes that you started the journey with, and the pile of clothes that you are ending the journey with, the small gifts, and the yoga books that you just had to have. All the things that will journey on with you, and all the “stuff” left behind.
I am really trying hard not to run around like a mad woman. I am trying to enjoy my last days here. To soak in, rather than wring out. As I arrived for practice this morning Sharath said “you come 4:45.” It felt like a metaphor for the depth that I have climbed. As I approach my last practices I am trying to allow the space in my head and in my body that will tie all this together. The aloneness, the togetherness, the struggle, the release, all the chanting and the vibration that has remained. Wallace Stevens says it better,
"I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendos
The black bird whistling
Or just after.
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