This was probably the reason for Friday's awkward practice and rough nap. I'm miserably sick. I couldn't really sleep. Awake/asleep it all feels the same. All I want to do is drive out to the Rockaways and jump into the ocean but the SO is still sleeping and grumbled to me at 6 am that he thought it wasn't the best idea for me. Maybe he is right. The water can be cold out there and the weather won't break 80 today and it is supposed to rain. But I keep going back to that David Williams workshop where he said that when you are sick you should practice a little then jump in the ocean and snort the salt water then go do some more yoga and then do it again. I imagine this hippie jungle man covered in leaved with a stick in his hair running out from the trees into the water and back again. I want that to be me. I want to be sun kissed and tropical with the taste and smell of salt water on my skin with sand collecting in the cuticles of my toenails.
Before the suffering began, yesterday I found myself marking the summer solstice in Times Square with hundreds of other people who were marveling at the notion of being fully reclined in the middle of the madness. I was one of the people walking through the downward dogs trying to explain to this beginner or that the subtleties of knees chest chin or how to straighten the leg in trikonasana. For a few minutes as I stood watching the class, the taxis, the lights, the people, the buildings, the chaos, I felt that warm little feeling that one gets when one connects with how very special this city can be. And I got a shwag bag.
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