The heat, the humidity, the dim lights, the ground. I struggle against heavy eyelids but in the end, gravity takes over and I succumb to sleep.
Images of trees and waterfalls overpower my thoughts and consciousness. I jump off a cliff to dive gracefully into the depths of the water below, but mid-jump I become hesitant of my action. Mid-jump my heart quickens and panic floods through my veins. A twitch of the eyelid, a jerk of a foot and I'm eyes wide open, staring wildly around the room...wondering if anyone saw my struggle.
Let's begin in child's pose.
I drag myself into position, resting my forehead on the floor beneath me, rubbing my third eye center left and right. My eyes, my mind, they take me back to that waterfall, and I see myself jumping. There's no struggle this time, just a fluid dip into the crisp and refreshing water.
Focus on your breath.
But I can't breathe.
Stay strong in your asana, don't collapse into your body.
My limbs are helpless against the crash of the waterfall.
Concentrate on your gaze, your drishti.
The water burns my eyes and renders them useless.
With every shift, every movement I wade through the murky waters. I fight against the need to struggle, the need to put more pressure on my limp body. It's as though the waterfall transformed into a swamp, and the only thing I notice is the heat clinging to my skin, the beads of sweat that bubble from the poisonous cauldron within.
Breathe.
I surrender to the forces that take over and in that action of inaction, I find my breath again. Breaking free against the barrier that held me captive, I hear the crash of the water's surface as I gasp for air. I draw in deep, steady heaps of beautiful, bountiful air.
Surrender to shavasana.
It is the practice of letting go, the practice of surrendering. It's learning to breathe.
