is: Here they are in their gooey floating bunk beds, meditating luxuriously, snoozing, stretching, slurping the milkshakes and turkey burgers I serve them, and frankly, I’d hate for them to get a glimpse of the less yogini, less Lilia-like me. That’s why I’m thrown when Lilia switches up our next cooldown practice, encouraging everyone not to buzz but to whisper words—silent, psychic words, but words nonetheless—to our growing, percolating little babies. “I can’t wait to meet you,” she says, suggesting something we might tell them. But this line is too Lilia, or too polite or something. I can’t transmit the message. Besides, I can wait to meet them; my husband and I have a million things to do before they get here. Now that she’s brought it up, I begin to list the tasks rather than to talk to my babies: buy car seats, baby-proof all sockets, read the 400-page manual on nursing… After class, as I’m rolling my mat, Lilia pays me a compliment for the first time ever: “Betsy, you had a great session—you’re finding your own way.” I forget to thank her quietly. My true voice booms. It’s okay, though. She gives me a high-five, a soft one. In the car, on the drive home, I realize I did have a strong session. I extended my arms farther than I thought possible, even though Lilia wasn’t holding my hand; I perched my foot to my calf and balanced on the other foot in expressive tree formation without trembling in discomfort, without feeling like a freak or a phony. When I caught myself in the mirror, I noted that my foot rested lower on my leg than most everyone else’s—they’d tucked theirs mid-thigh quite easily, like erotic genies, but the observation came and went. At a red light, I stretch my arms straight, grasping the wheel
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with two hands. I turn off the radio. “You should know I’m a very bad dancer,” I say softly to the dark park, to the nippy air. Then I try to say it again to my little boys. Not psychically, but straight out loud. “I’m a bad dancer,” I begin, raising my voice to its natural boom, “but I know how to have a good time. As good as my yoga teacher Lilia is at bending her body backwards, I’m good at making up games and stories; I’m good at running and working up a sweat. And, well, all I wanted to say, really, is that I’m sure you’ll both be good at these things, too. And lots more. It’s going to be cool to see what you like to do most. One thing I highly recommend? Sticking your thumbs in your ears, closing your eyes, and buzzing like bumblebees. We should all do it together sometime soon! What do you say? Speak up.”
Origami Jim Taylor
A square of green paper fold along the vertical center and return cast aside negative thought allow yourself to concentrate fold here and separate now you’ve completed the beginning
and blow lifebreath into him gently place him on the figured carpet wait for him to jump.
The second stage builds on the first squash-fold here and open it out fold in the raw edges and repeat fold top to bottom and return expose the almost hidden edges aware that concealment is the art Completion lies ahead fold and refold return reverse fold hold the frog
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