A yoga kiss me so we can heal day

For several years I have though about the idea of whether I should do yoga. And every time I think of it, yoga sounds like something painful that barefoot hippie women practice. Today I was listening to the NPR program Piano Jazz in which a wonderful young bass player was improvising with a piano player.

On Facebook I had received an invitation from kt rusch who plays African inspired music.  I had responded that maybe I would attend. Then I decided at the last minute that I would attend. I had kissed a friend who I find very attractive and sent her on her way. She was a smoker and I had decided she was not the right one but today my body was saying something else.

So, yes, it was time to take my mind off her. As luck would have it, I arrived in time to take a quick half hour introductory session at the yoga studio. And I ended up talking with the woman on the mat next to me who was a recently retired nurse. She used to work at the same hospital as me. I felt like kissing her, too.

The most surprising thing was that a young black man had run out of the yoga studio before me howling in pain. He came to the group with his wife who had convinced him that he should do this. So, I’m going to be able to do something that a guy half my age couldn’t do? C’mon Kenyatta, you must be delusional. I didn’t do all of the poses like the rubber-limbed teacher but I was close enough for a local oddball.

In fact I was good enough to sign up for tomorrow’s introductory class. I will let you know if I get kissed again. After all, that is the point of all this flexibility, isn’t it?



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