Perfecting Yoga

I’ve reached a new level of university-induced exhaustion.  After reading half of Defoe’s 1722 novel Moll Flanders (consequently discussing at length, what exactly is a prostitute/ mistress and are there, in fact, any differences), eight odd short stories (there was definitely a history professor in one of them… I’m not sure which one.  She was hateable.), Stephen Graham Jones’ Bleed into Me (all of it, ugh), and writing a paper over the weekend (the ties between women and their sexuality as shown in Lazarillo de Tormes and Simplicissimus), I fell asleep during yoga.

Shavasana, I’ve mentioned it before.  You lay on your mat, the lights are dimmed.  You clear your mind; focus on your breathing until it becomes deep and natural.  I certainly did all this.  When the instructor rang the Buddhist gong thing, my mind was confused, started talking to me. 

Apparently it's a rin or suzu gong, also known as a Tibetan Singing Bowl

Was I sleeping?  Good heavens.  How did that happen?  I was just talking, with Dad, about work.  There was light.  Wait a second, my eyes are closed.  Dad isn’t here.

The instructor’s voice broke through, calmly.  “Start to bring movement back into your breath.  Roll onto your right side.”

See, I wasn’t sleeping.  Only…

I managed to fall asleep again in the few seconds of lying on my side, arm extended, knees up.

I think I’ve managed to perfect my shavasana (English translation: corpse pose).