This morning was shitty. I woke from dreams of my grandfather, and of my family dealing with his death, as if I were floating above my family mourning him. Maybe I was, who knows. I wandered over to my practice space, and collapsed into Balasana (child pose). I rose from here to a half hearted down-dog where I stood up, and promptly sat on the couch, curling into the fetal position.
I lay there staring at my mat, convinced that there would be no practice today, when Cleo walked directly onto my mat, sitting and staring right back. She went about doing cat things, such as, from sitting turning her upper body all the way around to lick her lower back, coming back to center, and doing the same thing on the other side. Despite myself I smiled.
Upon my cats suggestion, I went back to my mat, and did every twist and backbend I could think of. Seeking and finding energy and twisty-ness.
His passing is harder than I thought it would be. Yoga, crying, boyfriend, laughing, tea and my yogic feline are all my tools in getting through this.
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