My yoga mat becomes a sacred place,
a smooth, yet gripping sanctuary
made from an ancient rubber tree
in a room filled with silence,
in a congregation of subtle movements
and expanding consciousness.
It is a place on which I stand tall
like a mountain
or on one leg
like a flamingo,
humble; arms stretched long
with the soul of a warrior.
My mat is where I plant my feet
through the changing seasons,
through times of weakness and strength
with each breath full and deep,
I close my eyes knowing that my foundation
is solidly underfoot.
It is a place to recognize my limits,
to open up new spaces,
to focus on small moments,
to change old habits,
and to start new ones
with wise and grateful intent.
For my latest poem on Spillwords, read No Stranger to the Estranged.
Featured image by Jared Rice on Unsplash.com