The howling of the wind against the window is like a thousand souls’ lullaby. They sing to me, a familiar melody.
Catherine wheel car tyres whir in the silver rain on the road outside, ebbing, fizzing and spraying into the distance. My breath is the gentle sway of the vast ocean, rising and falling in a gentle rhythmic swell. Gentle and powerful. The smell of lavender and menthol merged with the pressure of safe hands allow my shoulders to melt in to the mat, like soft, hot wax.
A lava lamp of colour dances under my eyelids. Bright, violet ink in water, like the mixing and cleaning of watercolour brushes. Energy triumphantly moves and clears, unblocking and flowing as salty tears well and drip down flushed, plastic cheeks.
My body softens with fatigued arms unfurled like ferns dormant by my side. Palms face upwards, fingers curl at the edges like crispy, autumn leaves. Anklebones rest softly; heels separate and flop carelessly out to the side. I abandon my thoughts. My carcass yields to the mat. The pelvis tilts and my hips are heavy, my spine is long and submits to the earth. There’s a feeling of merging and dissolving, a gradual disintegration. I am the earth, the earth is I, and we become one and the same. Sometimes I float out of my shell-body and feel exalted, golden and luminescent, I float freely without the burden of the body. I rise up. The fire of my work is almost extinguished and I’m left with the residue of the ash. I feel cold but content. Restored and reborn.