We sit with legs crossed and shins stacked
and attempt to bend forward.
The yoga instructor waxes about the benefits
of forward folds—how our ancestors bent
to pick sustenance from the earth
and how forward bends create
so much space in the spine—and
the whole while, my hips
are opening into red-petalled agony.
I have heard, of course, of how
forward bends lead to introspection—a
literal folding in on the self.
How they calm the nervous system
and quiet the mind. I also remember
my father’s advice when I came to him
with a sore thumb. Well, he would say,
I can drop a rock on your toe and
you won’t think about your thumb
anymore. No wonder the mind is quiet
when doing forward folds in knee-to-ankle pose.
It’s because the hips are throwing such a hissy fit
the mind can’t get in a word.
The instructor moves amongst the mats
and calls what we are doing research.
She invites us to get curious about what seems
to be holding us back. One more lesson,
I suppose, in how the obstacle is the way.
I lean deeper into the blooming red ache.
And the mind gets very quiet. And the folding
becomes an unfolding, and I feel
as if I am harvesting something—release,
perhaps, or insight—from right there in front of me,
something I can almost touch
the more I get out of the way.