Journal

I started doing yoga on a twice a week basis a few months ago.  I loved it.  Two years ago I could never have internally settled down enough to do yoga.  Sitting still sent my inner self running away.  When my clinical depression was untreated, I would find myself mentally drifting away.  By this I mean, my mind would not focus and my body would feel paralyzed.  But with my depression treated I can stay in control.  Instead of internally disconnecting I can embrace my inner self.  Last week I went up to Kearney to try a different Yoga instructor.  My yoga class in town treated it as a “field trip.”

This yoga instructor’s style was more fluid.  We did a few minutes of transitioning from downard dog to lifting ourselves down onto her stomachs.  We would then raise our chests for a few minutes before returning to downward dog again.  I found this very energizing.  What I love the most about yoga is how much it forces you to focus on your body’s movements.  Most people envision yoga as a potentially hazardous event, involving contortions and unnatural pretzel bending.  But, in my experience, it’s a profoundly intimate experience.  There is me and the pose.  Me and my breathe.  Me and the internal rhythm of heartbeats.

My First Deer

The wind howled across the prairie. It’s voice swirling, cyclone like in the bare trees. I crouched in the tree line next to my fiance. He stood with his bow, scanning the empty cornfield. The weather had begun to turn, fall turning into winter. The usual wind and cold was also well on its way.

I hadn’t grown up a hunting family. The world of hunters in general was a new thing for me, a new discovery. It sounds dramatic, but I felt a bit like Columbus sailing off on the ocean. I could feel nature around me, filling my senses. The leaves rustled as a fat squirrel scampered across our path. I had a brief mental flash of the squirrel rearing up on its hind legs and going ape shit. But then again, my imagination has been weaned on Monty Python.

Anyways, we waited an hour until the first deer was spotted. It was a young buck to our left, making its way along the fence line. My fiance could see it before I could. In the past, deer has been little more than a brown blur to me. I stood in fascination, watching its leisurely walk across the corn field. Inwardly, I was pushing for it to get closer.

I looked to our right and saw another deer less than twenty yards from us. It hadn’t made a sound. I stared at it’s eyes. The eyes were huge pools of black. Its nose twitched. I could feel my fiance and I both saying an inward pray, please don’t smell us. The wind gave a fierce moan. The buck went stock still, wiggled its nose and bounded off away from us. Its white tail an erect flag of warning. Alas, the kill was not to be.

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