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Live by the heat of your breath.
Run by the sweat of your temple.
Love by the tear stains on your cheek.
Be the products of your emotions...
Be the products of yourself
Do not merely subsist.
Do not live gray, and colorless.
Paint your sorrows against your walls
in cerulean stars, and
your anger in coxcomb flames,
and when you find joy,
may you paint it with golden wings. -- Already @heresyandheartattacks
Looking back at a night in New Caledonia with the @YogaSlackers gazing at the stars and enjoying the sounds of the ocean.
More Lies
Sometimes I say I’m going to meditate
at three in the morning even though I’m not a monk
but because I feel like I was one in a past life.
I’ve always thought so, ever since I started saving bugs.
Today, for example, I stopped a fight in the hallway not to punish
the kid doing the beating, but out of compassion for the one being pulverized.
Someone might ask in which monastery I was secluded,
under which swami I studied. I like to envision all of my possessions
in a pile outside. Burning. So they can see the smoke in India.
I carry my yoga mat everywhere just in case I get tagged
in one of those stop drop and yoga things
online. I like a place where my thoughts are separate from my body.
I once meditated for two lifetimes. I was even in a trance while urinating--
I often have to pee. My instructor says
focus on an image and mentally repeat a mantra. *so hum.* I zoom in on a toilet.
Someone who is thinner than me unrolls her yoga mat
next to mine. It’s pink and has lines that mark
how you should place your body.
All of her fingers have rings. The room is dark and musty.
As we breathe in we acknowledge any thoughts that enter our mind, and with each exhale let them go.
Any one of them could be you.
Note: This draft is from a workshop writing prompt I did that was modeled after Karin Gottshall's poem, More Lies
#poetry #poetsofinstagram #writing #writersofinstagram #writelikeamofo #warriorpoetess #artistsofinstagram #instapoem
Self portrait, Art 161, Spring 2011, Minolta X7000