Sometimes I gracefully stretch into you. Sometimes I pounce giddily upon you. And then there are times when I fall into your embrace, vulnerable and wise to your comfort. Always back to you. I come as I am, and you never judge me.
Even when weeks pass—and I can see the creases from your time rolled up in waiting—you still welcome me as if we last met yesterday.
You care not about time or appearances. You are, and you let me just be.
You catch my sweat and my tears. You are witness to my prayers. You support my highest exaltation and catch me when I fall.
I come to you as rain to soil, snow to branches. You are the One I lie upon. I give myself to you, you who always accepts me, who knows me without trying.
We join together as starlight reaching Earth. We don’t concern ourselves with how or why.
Now and then I smell myself on you and wonder if we are becoming one, if the lines are blurring between you and I.
To lie, they say, is not a good thing. But how can this beautiful love of ours be anything but sacred? Who dictated such words, who wrote this perplexing dictionary?
I could say I lay upon you, but that comes with as many negative connotations. Where does this shame come from over lying and laying? For how many lives have we missed each other amidst such confusion, my love?
So maybe that is why when I lie upon you, I feel I could wake up 100 years later. 1,000. Maybe even 26,000. For you, One I lie upon, are my light vehicle. When we are here and now, we can be anywhere.
Bless you, my yoga mat.