The Climate of the Mat

by Tony Chase

I like the sweat
I like the old frayed towel I use to wipe it off
I like the salt stains on my gym bag, as if I've been to the sea
I like the candles guttering against a window light of rain, blue sky, dusk or snow
I like the whole studio which is at times like being in an off white bulb, aglow
I like the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor
I like the matter-of-fact slap of the mats unfurling
I like the very odd slurping noise of water being sucked from plastic bottles, as if we all regress to the weird womb of yoga
I like the way the whole room settles, as everyone's brain waves slow
I like the cold December body growing warm
I like letting go of fears, of thoughts, of anticipations or regrets
I like the far-off music of ancient India in my nearby ears
I like the precise instructions: "Lunge the left foot back..."
I like the rare new openings: the way hips stack
I like it when the antique body bends into some new anti-gravitational form
I like the way blood rushes into the brain
I like the thirty other bodies, during winter storms
I like the panting and the gasping, followed by the peaces
I like it during meditation, and when the meditation ends
I like the way grownups gab like children in the hall
I even like their families, who I've never met at all
I like walking to the bike when yoga's over
I like the slow ride home to the fields and geese
I like my battered desk
I like the sensation of liking

It is hard to find a margin or a limit or a seam
Between the yoga practice and the thoughts about it
I like the way the winter hills look like a dream
I like it all, and then some...

Verge Yoga student Tony Chase is s a nature and adventure writer for Conde Nast Traveler he's visited five continents and the Arctic Ocean and his work has been translated into several foreign languages.