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It was one of those mornings without enough time.  I woke feeling tight inside and looked at the last entry in my journal: 11/12/13.  Eight days ago.  No wonder.  I haven’t taken even a few moments to write in the morning all week, and now that I’m back at my winter job three days a week, the hours before 7:00 am are precious, time to snuggle with Waylon and breastfeed him before my Mom picks him up for the day.  Edge and Waylon hugged me together, and the tears that threatened to come dried up.

The radio turned on with my car, but I didn’t get far before switching it off.  Too much bad news: reviews of books on war zones, updates on tornado damage, and reports of suicide bombings.  I put in a cd and the music of Steven Walters played to me as I drove:

just this moment, always changing always the same
just this moment, so wild and yet so tame
just this moment, I’m dancing in the flames
let them burn, let them burn, let them burn,
I am what remains

As I walked into work I passed an adjoining office and saw two co-workers in mountain pose and hands in prayer.  Just seeing them brought a deep breath back into my body, and I took my coat off and assumed the same pose before joining them in sun salutations, breathing and stretching down to my toes.

Before I left the yurt today I took a moment to write, ending with this prayer: May I find the quiet at the core of my being.

I sit here now feeling calm, still, quiet.  Thankful for impromptu morning yoga and the space that returns with breath.