Last night I was lured outside. By the whispers of the night. Right outside my window. Beckoning me. Drawing me closer. I opened my door and stepped into the darkness. She wrapped herself around me and whispered gently in my ear. Tears began to flow like gentle rain pouring from a leaf. There I was, outside, in the thick of it all. A symphony of sounds enveloped my ears and I couldn't do anything but listen. I delighted in the lush melodies that flowed through me. Filled me. So much that I almost couldn't take it. Holding it all inside. For a moment. My breath paused. Until I remembered to exhale. And inhale with darkness wrapped around me. Her enchanting rhythm flowing, pulsing through me. Moving me. In my stillness. Filling me up. Emptying out. I stood. In her stillness. Prana and nature moving me. To tears. In the darkness of the night.

© Jackie L Hutchings

I wasn't here today,
I just appeared to be.

I must offer my humblest apologies
[You thought I was here today.]

I entered the room—late as usual,
I sat down at the back—making as little sound as possible
But you all looked back at me as I gently pulled my notebook from my napsack.

I looked ready to begin,
Pen poised
And you thought that I was here,
But I must say with my deepest regrets
that it was just my physical being that you saw.
It was my smile,
my laugh,
my sigh,
Never inappropriate.

But again, I must apologize,
As I wasn't really here
[I just breathed in air]
But none of you realized,
And again I must say,
that I'm awfully sorry that I was not here today.

© Jackie L Hutchings

Last night I placed myself upon my mat. Precisely like we did in class the day before. Except a folded blanket replaced the bolster. My shoulders, neck and head draped over the edge, into the earth. And I gave my breath my full attention. I watched the inhale move up my body and gently reach outward, moving into my arms, my hands, my shoulders, my neck, like the wind caressing the outreached branches of a tree. I watched it fall back down and flow toward my pelvic floor. Through my pelvic floor, out my legs, my feet, and my toes. And then once again pouring into me, filling me, flowing out, into every part of me as it moved towards my head. Like the ocean greeting the rocks. Searching for openings, crevices to explore. And then it flowed back out from me. Pulling away. And as I stayed with my breath, as I gave it my full attention, I traced wave after wave of my breath moving through me. In me. Forming an arc as it moved within. Like a pirate ship rocking back and forth over the rhythmic ocean. Swaying upward as it reached beyond my pelvic floor. Lingering for a moment above me before gently rushing down and upward, into the exhale arcing over my head. Pausing before its return. I began to feel its rhythm flow through me. Not knowing when the inhale stopped and the exhale began. I traced my breath. Or rather my breath traced me. Gently. Pulsating through me. I could see it, feel it, moving up and down, reaching into open spaces it had never explored before.

Pranayama, I had been steadily practicing for months now, but I had never given my breath my attention like this. Before. Counting it. Almost commanding it. Controlling it. Last night I gave it what it had been yearning for. I gave it the gift of my utmost attention. I gave it the joy, the ecstasy of freedom. I let it be. Allowing its true nature to reveal itself. In wave after wave after wave after wave. Crescendos overlapping diminuendos. The oceanic symphony within.

© Jackie L Hutchings

Dearest Perfection,

How do you ever expect me to get anything accomplished with all your nitpicking, with your, change that sentence, move that over, change that picture, align this with that, check that word, that content isn't quite good enough, it's too long, the title isn't catchy enough, the photo doesn't go with the text, who are you even writing this to, you need a target audience, you should wait until you have everything ready, until you're super extra awesomely prepared, until you have a 'real' job to support you, until you have done more research, until you are a SEO scholar, until, until, until...

Well Perfection, I've waited long enough, my soul cries out over and over again, "Do it now. Right now. Please. You never know what's going to happen."

So here I am. 4:37 am. Sore wrists. Tired eyes. Excitement crushed somewhere underneath the heaviness of exhaustion. I'm about to hit 'PUBLISH,' and share not just this blog post, but my brand new website with the world, but I'm curious about this thing called perfectionism that I seem to have. Is it really procrastination in disguise? Or fear? Self-doubt? Maybe it's different for everyone. For me I think it's a combination of overwhelm—my mind glaring at the big picture, and questioning how on earth we're going to get there, and then wanting to organize, and write out everything, and set deadlines, and sort through thousands of pictures to find the perfect ones, and, and, and... and then there's the driving desire for everything to look perfect. Absolutely perfect. Yeah, maybe there's no mystery behind my perfectionism at all. A wise person once said, beauty begins where perfection ends, or something like that. So here goes...