Levitation, after Annie Dillard
उदानजयाअत् जलपण्खकण्टकादिष्वसङ्गोऽत्क्रान्तिश्च
udāna-jayāat jala-paṇkha-kaṇṭakādiṣv-asaṅgo-'tkrāntiśca
udāna-jayāat jala-paṇkha-kaṇṭakādiṣv-asaṅgo-'tkrāntiśca
Gaining mastery over upward flowing energy severs contact
with mud, water, thorns and the like; whereupon the yogi levitates.
~The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali
with mud, water, thorns and the like; whereupon the yogi levitates.
~The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali
I was remembering the way,
each night,
you used to carefully brush off
the soles of your feet
before stretching your soft legs
into the bedsheets.
At the time, I thought it a compulsion.
Later I saw it as an act of love
for your precious skin,
protection from those stowaway shards
of the broken world.
Then I saw that as exceptionalism,
and decided to dislike the gesture.
It is well known
that there are three ways
to levitate:
to die,
to trip,
and to love oneself
more than the earth.
I find I am opposed to all three.
It is less well known
that we levitate in embrace—
bodies, mud, thorns, and all—
as tenderness holds back fingers of flame.
