What I Need Is More Yoga

Tree in tree pose

Tree in tree pose

When I woke up yesterday morning the light in the room was still dim. The closed door, stained dark walnut, looked like an open portal, a deep black tunnel.

At the end of yoga class yesterday afternoon, when our teacher said to allow the mind to go into the deeper states of consciousness, this ink black portal, a door made of shadows, opened before me once again.

Corpse pose is a preparation for death, not a moment to fear, but rather a letting go. I slide into the velvety, warm blackness, this state of consciousness where poetry is born.

Spirit Hawk

A hawk lifts from the pines and flies toward me across the lake.

It lands on the grassy slope next to where I’m sitting on a blanket.

The hawk grows in size, becoming bigger than I am.

Its eye dominates my field of vision.

I ask the hawk a question about how I should proceed,

and in answer it flies away, back toward the pines.

I try to follow it, but as I reach the middle of the lake,

the hawk dissolves into the sunlight.

HawkMy drawing of the hawk from my visualization.

Day four, five-minute mindful writing, a small stone for Writing Our Way Home. 

Sudden Transformation

Dream: I look in the mirror and realize I have turned into a young Black woman. I have beautiful dreadlocks that sweep away from my face and fall over my shoulders. My eyes are big and wide, and my mouth is full. I’m surprised and pleased at this sudden transformation, but there is also the recognition that this woman has been inside me all along.

Before I had time to recall my dreams in the morning, I picked out a few poetry collections to bring on our road trip to Chicago–Nikky Finney’s Head off and Split was one. While reading the first piece in the book, “Resurrection of the Errand Girl: an Introduction,” I remembered my dream.

It’s an inspirational book. It looks like my car ride to Chicago will be a good one.

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Metaphysical

Last night’s dream: I am taking a poetry exam and have the option of choosing my own essay question. I’m excited to write about the influence metaphysical poets had on T.S. Eliot.

In actuality, this was a question on my recent M.F.A. exams that I chose not to answer, because I didn’t know much about the link between Eliot and the metaphysicals. I have a vague memory that he might have been related to George Herbert. I just found Eliot’s essay on the subject in a collection of John Donne’s work, and I’m planning on reading it.

I think the answer would involve a close reading of Ash Wednesday and The Four Quartets. So that’s next.

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