A Poem: What Matters

Yoga is my
path, twenty-five years
striving for
full lotus. I can
flatten my palms on the floor
straight-legged and
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
full backbend.
“Let the breath lead,” the yogis teach,
and so I did,
followed it right to the
Drop of
Divinity within.

Now I meditate on the
yoga of union, the
union of yoga, and
you know what? I was
enlightened all along. 

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