The Feeling of Knowing My Own Skin

self portrait

I drove home in a bit of a fog, with my head pounding and my thoughts blurry. 

I need yoga.
Naked yoga.
I need to get out of these clothes and get on my mat.
I need to feel the air against bare skin.
I need to come back to me.

But it never happened, the naked yoga.

I was feeling hazy and drunk from the stress of the day. A new job will do that. I mentally told a handful of people to piss off and when I walked outside I could not feel myself.

I landed at the grocery store and it seemed to be the purpose of everyone there to get in my way. I left with two frozen pizzas and a jar of almond butter, the creamy kind. I was still thinking about naked yoga, but the headache was getting louder.

When I walked in the house, I began the ritual of opening any closed-in-case-of-rain windows. I lingered in the space of the white sun porch/yoga room. I got naked, but it was too much, so I picked up one of the many white Hanes t-shirts that my husband owns off the floor and slipped it over my torso.

The bed was still unmade (it's a Monday to Friday thing) and I thought about taking a nap. That, too, was too much. All I wanted was to get back into the feeling of knowing my own skin and breathing into my belly.

I remembered the work we are doing this week in my Magic Making Circle. I grabbed a sharpie, fell back onto the white linens that were tangled on the bed, and looked into my own eyes via an iPhone camera. 

34 pictures later and I was back in the moment.

I studied the photos, the lines and the light. I looked for the one that could tell my story in that moment. This is always my process. I'm not looking for perfection, I'm searching for truth. When I find the image, I move it to one of the many editing apps and play around with the contrast. Little tweaks to bring the photo into the beauty that I felt when I was taking it. Nothing more, nothing less.

At some point my husband wandered in, looking equally weary and a little disconnected from his own self. He laid down next to me and gifted me the space of quiet while I got lost in photography. His medicine was the nap that I chose not to take. 

An hour later we pulled ourselves out of bed and carried on with the normal rhythms of our evening.