A Poem: What Matters
Yoga is my
path, twenty-five years
full lotus. I can
flatten my palms on the floor
touch chin to shin.
Down dog, plank, chatturanga, up dog,
down dog, plank, chatturanga, up dog,
a hundred times in one session.
And you know what?
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing happened when I kicked up into
headstand in the middle of the room for the
very first time, legs straight, shoulders strong.
No one cared.
Enlightenment didn’t arrive in a
flash the moment I finally lifted into
“Let the breath lead,” the yogis teach,
and so I did,
followed it right to the
Now I meditate on the
yoga of union, the
union of yoga, and
you know what? I was
enlightened all along.