Is missing. I cant quite put my finger on it but there’s a lack I can’t quite explain.

The Yogi has been on my mind lately, mostly because my teachers here are excellent, but they are so caught up in being “real” that the lose the realness of it.

He’s in mexico for a little bit enjoying the sun and being bendy and I’d be lying if I said I was cool taking a pass on such an excellent trip. Not only because I’m jones’n for a beach but I’m more jones’n for a kindered spirit; the feeling of home.

His class was so outstanding because his approach wasn’t really an approach. You came, you did what your body came to do, you laughed, you concentrated, you said thank you. You were your best self and you left with a little reminder to be a better person.

Hug eachother, complain less, improvise, share.

I’m missing that.

I can hear his voice in my head; your mat is always ready for you when you’re ready for it. I’m ready, I’m listening, I could stand to give a little more and hug a little more.

I’m a firm believer in 1) you get what you give, 2) the universe has your back, 3) you are exactly where you need to be. And while I know all these things to be true, I’m waiting to feel them. I’m wanting to feel them. I’m wanting to feel like this place is my own, not just where my stuff is and my cat is and I pay rent and take the bus and grocery shop and cook and clean and walk and make art and run, but that all these things come together and they are home.

“Just 5 more deep breaths… Just 4 more deep breaths… Just 3 more deep breaths…

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