Excerpt: Yoga on Jelly Arms

Three Part Breath
- Dirga Pranayama

IN

The air into my nose is sharp. Cold though the room is hot. Hot Yoga. To keep the muscles warms. To generate sweat. Slick. Heat. My cold nose out of place. My thick body out of place and shape.

OUT

My eyes want to open as I exhale. When I think of pulling my navel towards my spine, as the instructor suggests, my back arches, my shoulders create a cave of too thick cotton shirt on my spine. I should wear something thinner. Dare to show my arms. I want to believe no one is looking at me. My exhale is short. Not shallow. Low valley covered with fog.

IN

Here I am supposed to have some different kind of breath. Deeper. Be a balloon she says. The woman next to me seems to rattle with each movement of her breath. I picture her nostrils like a dragon. I want to be a dragon. A quiet one. I am outside of this breath.

OUT

The instructor has her hand on my back. I worry about my sweat. I try to fill into the cup of her palm. I think of the doctor’s office. The stethoscope checking for untoward sounds. Can she hear through her hand? Are her fingers microphones. I’m new they read.

IN

She has moved on. Reminding her students of the deepest breath. The third level. Stay with your breath. With your pace. Your place. I am not there. I am in the cold early breath. My ears too full of pressure as if something was mounting. Of travel into altitude. New climates.

OUT

Too loud, the breath, it slips out of my mouth. Held too long. Tears wait. How can it be hard to just breathe?