Tears welled up as I moved into child’s pose this morning, at the beginning of yoga class. “I wonder what this is about,” I thought, and then in another pose when the tears were right there again. Then during shavasana, the lying relaxation pose at the end of yoga class, I remembered. Natalie died a year ago. I’ll light a candle for her at sunset and let the small glow it creates dance in the kitchen as it grows dark. The candle will still be burning when I get up in the morning. Another day.
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It’s a cellular memory, the body storing your grief. The tears come before the actualization, the venue of release.
It happens to me, that veil of sadness. When examined, the cause then apparent.
Nameste.