Sun Salutation

Yoga. It is nine on an already warm morning, and I am in a brilliantly colored tie-dye long sleeved shirt and white pants. Movement clothing. The classroom for our once-in-awhile yoga sessions is warmer than the air outside, and the sun shines in cruelly on our un-caffeinated eyes. We pull long, thin yoga mats out and sit, strategically placing ourselves throughout the large room according to whether we want to be noticed or not. I sit in the very front row, to the left of the instructor. I like seeing what I'm doing in the mirror; I'm well aware of my vanity. 

Already, warming up with poses named, it seems, by children, I am hot. My long clothing is stuffy and I know it will get worse, I will become quite uncomfortable. I try to relax. I breathe, inhaling, exhaling at my "own pace." 

My mind is concentrated in the room. I see myself perform the poses, stretching and moving. I notice but try not to pay attention to the others in the room. The instructor keeps my constant attention. And for awhile, this is the exact truth. We reach a series of movements called the Sun Salutation; and I begin to dream. 

I see myself, or perhaps my dream self, dressed in brilliant gold. I am an Indian princess, posed gracefully on a bejeweled elephant, high above the people of the world. I am the sun and they greet me, as I greet them; one yoga position at a time. I am so high I can see the curve of the horizon, proof of the roundness of the world. I gaze in pride at my land, my world. 

I see no global warming. I see only warmth.

I see no wars and bloodshed. I see only peace.

And I see myself in a undulated mirror; my tie-dye shirt fraying at the hem, my hair in a strange and effortless bun. And I see my classmates and the sun shining in. 

I greet the sun. "Sun... Salutations."