Targeting the lower spine like nothing else, the back bend destroys me.
My hips inch their way forward as I create a bridge with my upper torso and my eyes climb down the back wall behind me.
My ribs escalate upward as if instructed by puppet strings.
My mind, blank.
My breath, short.
In through my nose.
Out through my nose.
Each inhale calming me down, slowing my heart rate like train tracks at the end of their course.
It is here- in this amplifying, belligerent arch- that I experience healing.
A touch from the divine.
A kiss at my lower back.
And then a gentle whisper.
This is why I do yoga.
This is what keeps sending me back and back and back even more.
Further into the arch.
Further into the sacred kiss, the holy touch.
The ultimate sacrament of love.