Don't hold your breath

When working out, we often get breathless, and tend to breathe from our mouth to makeup for the oxygen we are losing. But, while practising Bikram Yoga you aren’t supposed to breathe from your mouth. You are supposed to only breathe from your nose throughout the workout. Only in the beginning and end you use your mouth.

After doing bikram for months at end, I trained myself to not breath from my mouth when I’m in a posture. Other workouts, don’t work that way. So, my PT is constantly (for the past 3 years) reminding me to “keep breathing.” I’m still learning and reminding myself – don’t hold my breath.

In the world of metaphors (and over-thinkers), the term don’t hold my breath literally means to tell someone that an event isn’t going to happen.

In an endless loop, I had a realization (am I sitting by the window, talking in a Carrie Bradshaw voice? Possibly), that this meant more than just me trying to unlearn bikram yoga breathing. You see, I’m a dreamer, I am constantly scouting for hope and spend most of my optimistic self and time – holding my breath waiting for something that is likely to never happen.

I am not ashamed of hoping and looking for the rainbow, I would think of that as my virtue. I am always hopeful, but it’s my own expectations of everything else – not just necessarily me – that sets me up for disappointment. I wouldn’t want to settle for less than, but I shouldn’t be setting myself up for unnecessary breath holding and tension in my shoulders – and heart.

There is a need – nah, necessity – to constantly remind myself to breathe. To contain my expectations to myself – and to deliver on them, so I let go with a long exhale.

Terms of My Virtue

Like with everything that comes,
There’s terms and conditions,
Things that we expect,
A stance towards disappointment.
But, I’ll reach my hands out,
Even when it’s dark and we can’t see,
You’ll reach out too –
Or so, I’ll be hoping.

These crowded roads,
Leading me astray,
This blaring music,
Just doesn’t feel the same.
But, I’ll have to understand –
People are people,
And they keep changing their heart and head,
And hope, here, isn’t my friend. 

The mythical corner,
That doesn’t exist,
The unsaid conversations
Now – feel flaky to begin with.
But, patience, unfortunately, is my virtue,
And I’m running out,
Because to me – for a very long minute there,
It felt like something real.

April 11, 2019

Hope, you.

The gush of the wind,
Awoke my slumber,
I reached for my phone,
Nothing again, I trembled.
Languishing with my thoughts,
Awaiting escape to another slumber.

Whole twinkling passes,
Nothing again, I know.
My imagination runs with wings,
Thinking my phone would ring.
You’d want to come back,
I wouldn’t have to ask,
You would, you would call.

But, I told you not to.
Never to call again.
Yet, at every tick,
I hope it’s you.

The sound of my own breath,
Too loud, yet empty.
In this lull of the night,
If I could wish for you,
I might.
Hope falls like dried leaves of fall,
Nothing again, tempted to look.
Fallen daisies, hyperbole anticipations,
Empty answers and my fragmenting heart.
I told you not to, but I hope you do.

World Heritage Sights: Mtskheta, Jvari Monastery and Mt Mtatsminda Hill, Georgia (Day 3 of 3)