To be Held.

Patches of sun and shade alternate space on the grass like quadrants on a quilt.

Or neighbors, who kindly but deliberately stop mowing the grass when they reach the border of what’s yours and theirs.

It’s summer, but it feels pleasant in the shade.

My shoes are off, and I’m in my hammock.

Just finished reading old writing samples in my journal, feeling relaxed, grateful.

A Sunday morning at Centennial Park.

Just me and my quadrants of sun and shade.

Light, dark.

Warm, cool.

Do you ever like to pretend you are the only one moving and alive in the whole world, just for a moment?

I think that is one of the best feelings sometimes.

Everything is still, peaceful, quiet,

Like you are floating in the air, right beside the moon.

I’ve been swimming a few times this summer at night, all by myself.

This is one of those times for me.

Just me and the moon.

The moonlight, my only light.

I come out of the water and I am cold for a second, but then I go back under to swim and I am warm.

Light, dark.

Warm, cool.

Nature always seems to hold me somehow.

Hearts Heavy, Lungs Full.

One week without yoga and I find myself conducting odd neck stretches and spinal twists in my tiny Ecuadorian bus seat.

Last night we witnessed the most amazing dance performance of 2 people,

1 man and 1 woman.

Both small in body, but fearless in strength and expression.

They were completely covered head-to-toe in cloud-white clothing with a third of their face from their eyes to the top of their mouths hidden behind a mesh layer.

We never locked eyes.

Their breath was perfectly in sync and the actual sound of each of their inhales and exhales was very much a part of the piece.

It was incredibly human: so authentic, believable, raw.

The kind of performance you don’t totally understand, but you don’t need to.

“Get out of your head,” art demands.

“Feel with your heart.

Experience her mystery.”

It’s funny- just one week without yoga and almost more than anything else- I miss that.

Being in a room full of that sound:

Intentional breath.

I miss having my breath be perfectly in sync with a room full of strangers.

Hearts heavy,

Lungs full.

I miss rising on the inhale,

And folding on the exhale.

So I do what I can,

This hour on a beautiful, magical bus ride through a deep sea of green.

Nearly everyone around me is asleep.

My twists get deeper.

I am having fun.

Straight to the Ground.

That time I fainted instantly in the hallway.

Hardwooden floor.

We were in Brentwood.

I woke up right away,

and my roommate was right there.

Drove me straight to the CVS Pharmacy down the road.

I felt taken care of.

I was 24.

Eating dinner like a child.

Cross-legged on the kitchen floor.

My back against the cabinet.

A podcast was playing, just four feet to my right as my phone lied on that sharp-cornered table by the back door.

“It’s too late for dinner,” I told myself.

“But the house is quiet, my body is tired and actually, quite actually, I am content," I argued back.

Some of the worst period cramps I have ever had.

(Is that becoming a regular thing for me now?)

I hated those 30 minutes.

Just waiting on time to pass.

And thinking to myself,

“What do men have to go through?”

Lying down on the grass at Shelby Park in my favorite navy blue dress at the time.

I didn’t mind getting dirty and, “Don’t worry, it’s a play dress,” I consoled.

I felt so present, so young, so alive underneath that quiet night sky, 

the sky that matched my dress.

Time stopped, and I was really falling for this guy.

When I was told over the phone that I was cheated on.

Straight to the ground.

Straight to the comfort of warm summer concrete at the top of my driveway.

My body?

Numb.

Asleep.

Broken.

And I remember not feeling surprised.

Sometimes we go straight to the ground because that’s all we know how to do.

Sometimes because we are human and our bodies are tired and our knees hurt and it's been a long day. 

And most times?

The ground is everything.

Waking Up.

She walks down the loud and festive streets.

Sounds of car engines revving up beside her.

Sounds of birds off in a distance somewhere.

The beginning of night folding over the city.

The city calls her.

Hours later, she finds herself dancing in a crowd.

Her hips tilt left and right.

A tiny uptick at each corner of her body,

Like the lift of a slow, rising smile.

The smooth, sensual thread of music starts at her feet and slithers all the way up toward her belly, warming her throat, and then up to the crown of her head.

The beat drops.

It vibrates against her chest,

And she closes her eyes.

It feels good to be a woman, she thinks to herself.

S P A C E.

So.

Much.

Space.

Mountains and mountains of space.

As the hours pass, some of that space gets smaller.

We talk more.

To each other, not just near each other.

We give (somewhat) decent eye contact,

Now and again.

We are two elevator doors,

Slowly closing in.

The pressure to “like”, even love each other seems visible.

Urgent, even.

He shares more…

His favorite places in the city.

We speak a few plans out loud.

And start to inch closer.

We take tiny, tiny steps closer.

Love can be slow sometimes.

And always risky.

Always, we are standing at the edge of getting hurt,

Again.

And I am trying so hard not to disappear.