Talk Without Speaking

What a difference some sleep makes. It’s actually been 2 classes now since my last post since I posted before yoga yesterday and after yoga today. The difference in morale between the sinking I-can’t-do-this of class one to feeling almost strong (in a hey, I’m no longer falling down exhausted kinda way) in class two. Which was followed by the joint emotional roller coaster of number three.

Elation. Pure contentment. And, I’m sad to say, in that supposed savasanastic silence and clarity, a few minutes of muscle-tightening, tear-wrenching fury.

You say you know the score and you know what? I know it too. I’ll always be proud of you no matter what and the fact that this isn’t universally recognized brings tears to my eyes and makes me feel like screaming. You won’t lose your cool so I feel like I should lose some for you. Fuck him. The tragedy of this is that I know that it hurts them, those that need it the most, more than it even hurts you. And this is, of course, why it hurts you and I applaud that in you. It’s cliche but I know that you have literally given your blood and sweat, your soul and tears, your health and your peaceful sleep for them.

She said to be real and I want you to know that what you do is more incredibly real; sometimes I feel that it is more real than anything that I will ever do in my life. And I say that without any hint of envy or dissatisfaction, any hurt or jealousy. Like I said, I’m so very proud of you and I want you to know that I, for one, will never forget what you’ve done there.