I laid still, in child's pose, after 60 minutes of movement...and still there was that echo, a witness to all that I had done. I felt like I was on a boat--moving softly, gently, rhythmically. Where am I? Can I resurface to life and face a break-up, a hurricane, a snow storm, and even more?

This place, I call home: Anya, saves me, again.  Its like a lightening rod of conviction and an embellishment of a true story that I can't prove actually exists except I show up (again) and I hear/feel the words float into my body, and my muscles connect with the sounds, and images of a dimension that I do and I don't live in is surrounding this moment.  What is this place?

We have created systems and patterns of exploration and determination to be more: divine, connected, supported, loved, valued... I wish I was more or less, or something closer to the best and not the worst of me, which is exactly where I belong, here and now. Here on the reformer, here in this room, here in this moment in time, where every thing stops, when she says breathe into the back of your ribs and I remember where I am.

We circled around the ribs, into the core, down along the lateral edges of legs and frame lines, and noticed bony landmarks that I now know in my own bones because it is worth remembering this body of mine not just asa tool but a vehicle of expression.  I am expressing the structure: breathe in length; breathe out strength. And I am admiring the window sill as I come back to a parked position, legs shaking, determined to hold onto nothing, but hopefully embody something that looks like wholeness?  I am complete. I am whole. I am coming home to Anya.