It happens, just south of 30 minutes. Sound blurs and I slide in. Back into myself, friends again with my mat, with my breath and once again embraced by the practice. The teacher is there, I can hear her, the music is there, I can feel it, but mostly I can feel myself again. Judgements start to fade and grace finds its way in. I can feel the physical embodiment and the sensation of the poses twisting, burning--awakening my tissue and inspiring sweat to bathe my skin. I love the glorious feeling of the deep stretch--not a reckless stretch, but the kind that is a deep conversation with my body and as such you listen and trust and are nourished and liberated all at once. Somehow as I flex and flow, breathe in and breathe out, my mind doesn't empty it instead becomes full. Full of a sacred space that knows exactly what to do with each thought that enters my head. Thoughts that don't serve are less vibrant and thoughts that are truly new fresh ideas that contain solutions to challenges that have been driving me mad glow bright with their insight-- and all is suddenly right in the world. All will be done and the only really thing that matters is knowing that a hopefully long pigeon pose and a deep drink of savasana will come soon. Thank you yoga, thank you beautiful mat, thank you teacher. Thank you for this ancient timeless practice that delivers me back to me, more awake, more alive, and once again fully inspired.