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.