“Whether you’re shuffling a deck of cards or holding your breath, magic is pretty simple: It comes down to training, practice, and experimentation, followed up by ridiculous pursuit and relentless perseverance.” – David Blaine
I was never into yoga. But with your insistence, here we are with our mats rolled out. I glance your way as the instructor announces, “We start with Balasana today!”
Under pressure to offload weight pressing heavily on my shoulders, I welcome the suggestion even though I know your aim is to feign innocence. Curled up into a fetal position, my big thighs shielding me from your wordless rage, I breathe for the first time in months.
The old bray in my heart turns into vapour; a fog that clears as I let go of confusion, suspicion and anger. I welcome understanding. Because I’ve been meditating for months on how to leave space and let love breathe.
But after a three-minute count, curiosity gets the better of me. I lift up my head to see how you’re faring, only to find you elegantly holding the power pose. I bite my lip.
note: I never knew there’s such a fear, syngenesophobia. I came across this word as I pondered the prompt for Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero: a Pantry of Prose. I had fun blurring the line between fact and fiction in this story developed from the poem, A Feigned Pose, I wrote a few years ago.