Maybe it’s the release of emotions, the release of possessions, or perhaps just the juicing – but I woke up this morning with a little more space. I’m still sheepskin-crashing, living out of a car and a suitcase, without enough time to see everyone before I leave – but I feel it. Every inhale still feels my ribs constricting too tightly, my exhales feel stuck - but now with a whisper of expansion, a layer, however thin, fought off, an inch more space to breathe. Maybe it’s because I woke up even earlier than most days today, going to practice in a veil of sleep, my teacher calling me out as I simply sat and stared at my toes. Hamstrings especially tight, my movements messy - but he willed me to focus, so I did. My body is injured, and every few weeks as I progress, I’m forever shoved back by pulled muscles, swollen joints, a hurt hip. It pains my body, but more than that, it pains my ego – and that’s how I know they are good for me, that’s when I know to invite these injuries in. I’m forced to slow way down, watch and check myself, ignoring all the eyes noticing me modify my postures (no one’s looking), and learn other routes to my moving destination - because the only other option is stopping, and although I may be letting go of everything else, right now I can’t let go of this. So I’m trying to be slow. I’m trying to be more still. There may be snow storms all around me, but I’m trying to sit in front of the fireplace of my heart with cinnamon tea and a tasseled-blanket and learn to just watch the pretty snow flakes fall, leaving enough space that I won’t melt them with my kisses. Maybe it’s having held hands with my baby sister last night, her hugging me tight and making plans to take care of me, when it used to be the other way around. Maybe it’s the forever connection with my sicilian sister, who ever since I’ve known her, has taken care of me too – her hair as wild as mine, holding hands as we jump into the ocean naked at night, reminding me there’s no point in walking when you can dance instead. Maybe it's meditating on my mother's crystals reflecting the morning sun, or because I'm about to go play in dirt, planting seeds with her this afternoon. Maybe it was the sunset I drank last night with a new friend, or the green mate I drank this morning, and perhaps the slivered moon or the solstice could tell me why - but I can feel the space. It isn’t big, but it is there. My heart still beating too quickly, but today it is slower - still exhaustingly unstable, but today it feels safer. Too many words and not enough, but all of a sudden, my heart can’t stop writing.