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As a dancer used to the exquisite torture of hardcore ballet, hiphop, African, modern, and baton classes, I, at first did not see the what the big hoopla was about yoga when I was first subjected to it as part of my course load as a dance major. I have since changed my entire mind about this interesting form of exercise, but… that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t at one point an unbeliever. Here, I’ll share my musings and thoughts from those long ago days where I didn’t appreciate the freeing art form of yoga. Here is what turned out to be a prose poem about learning to meditate which is what we learned before we actually started yoga.

This is boring. How is this less difficult than all of the other things we’ve done in class, yet, two hours per week have been carved from our schedules to accommodate this non-exercise? It’s been an hour and I haven’t broken a single sweat. I’m tired… this is my 3rd class today, and…the teacher let us put our sweatpants back on. All of us wear sweatpants. No reason to put on real clothes when you’re going to sweat out your soul in the dance studio. Apparently, I’m not so good at lying still…zzzzz

The hour is over?! The hour is over. The other dancers are moving around. I can’t believe I slept through this session. She calls it meditation; I call it nap time. Though I do feel strangely rejuevanted, I prefer to sleep on a mattress.

It is Wednesday again. We have returned to practicing this exercise that is not exercise. She tells me to let my mind be free, but it cannot, as it is a prisoner to my thoughts. Restful waking. You can rest during the waking hours if you let the tension drain from your toes…ankles, calves and shins, and I? I am falling asleep again. This is a disaster.

The next Wednesday. Well, last week, I stayed awake for a whole 15 minutes. Felt a tingling in my toes and started drifting at “knees”. We are up to our hips. I’ve become a sack of liquid against the floor. This is what I’m envisioning. Removing the bones from my flesh and just be a river, be a river, be a river. I am an ocean. I have lost my destiny. Felt the ache fade from my belly and I am…sleeping again.

Wednesday. I am determined. Determined to be relaxed. Feeling a little insecure because I’m sure people can hear my heavy breathing because…everyone else has figured out how to stay awake and…my breasts feel warm and moist beneath my sweatshirt. My back sticks to it a little. I feel my shoulders drooping, sagging, melting, becoming hot liquid as I remove my bones and soak myself into the floor and zzzzzz. I have failed again.

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Maple Summers

Author. Blogger. Feminist. Pole dancer and musician with an obsession with blenders and squeezing a little bit of healthy into every day.

The Sleepy Art of Meditation from a Frustrated Individual Who Had to Learn How to Relax





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