Interior Ocean

In the yoga studio, the fifteen of us lie still, at the end, and our breaths are in unison; our breaths resemble the sound of waves. I’m rocked back into my memories.

The darkness behind my eyelids is softened by the low lit screens all around us. Though I’m perfectly still on the ground, my body lightens and begins to feel as if it is swaying.

My breathing channels through my body like waves and I feel layers of me shifting surfaces, moving forward and backward, forward and backward, swinging. The breaths of others around me are the waves gently lapping the coast, the distant waves folding into themselves; they are the waves molding over my skin, like an aqueous shield, but soon breaking in foam all around me.

I am a child in the ocean, lying in shallow sandbars, and I’ve lied before in the ocean, with the waves pulling and pushing my hair all around.

I don’t want to open my eyes. I want to live in this interior ocean, with the breath of others all around me, in their interior oceans.

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