In Your Mind. In Your Practice.
I am contained by a seven by two-foot yoga mat. You walk freely between the islands of stretching humans, tiptoeing between the oceans of sweat. I am silent in my words, loud in my mind. You are soft with your words, intentional with your directions. We are here, sharing the same air.
My legs lunge into warrior one. Your toes slide past my outstretched arms. My body has been away. You stayed here. My mind assumed I was absent in your thought cavities. Your distant actions proved my hypotheses correct. We are here, physically present & mentally roaming.
My breath follows your instruction. Your instruction fills my lungs, heart. My limbs pulled by your audible strings. Your perspective gifted to 23 open ears, muscles. My forehead pounds with highway memories of our past. Your words only heard by my body; followed, pulled, and twisted into downward dogs, cranes, and pigeons. We are here, feeling the same music.
My ears notice my songs, on your speakers. Your playlist, filled with my gifts. My discovered melodies on your regular class mixtape. Your class, eavesdropping on our collection. My presence here always, regardless of my occupied mat.
I am here. In your studio. In your music. In your mind. In your practice.
We are two humans weaving through the slipstream, flexible beyond tendons, sneaking into thoughts. We need not conversation, only memories unearthed by chords, notes, and lyrics.
Press play, breathe, stretch, hear, remember, smile. We are a we never before, current, or future. But as long as we can listen, we will always hear each other.