Streaking, Streaming, Flowing, Flooding -- Vis, Croatia

The room is warm. Outside is wet. My brain is foggy. The water is simmering. The French Press is full of coffee grounds.

Delicious.

My mug is empty. Three flies and one moth rest in various stages of decay on the windowsill to my right. Next to my empty mug. The water is boiling.

The moment.

A moment ago I was practicing a mindfulness reading for meditation this morning. A moment from now, I will most likely be reading the mindfulness meditation to a bouncy yoga teacher from Portland (who only eats happy chickens), a sensitive fashion designer from Milan (who eats no chicken) and a soft-spoken biologist from Germany (who lives in Sweden). 

This moment.

Raspberry red sends rivulets of color from the teabag into the hot water. Streaking, streaming, flowing, flooding.

Don't think menstruation of the goddess, don't think menstruation of the goddess, don't think --

There's a cat that roams around the villa at night. It howls and yowls and crawls and prowls.

Milda thinks it's a ghost.

Mario accepts that it's a cat.

I choose to believe that Domagoj has left half his aura here to haunt us all.

To make sure we don't corrupt his yoga with our hollow, shallow western interpretation.

He makes yoga into a religion. 

Small bubbles shoot to the surface of my tea, joining groups of bubbles and then dissolving (if that's what bubbles do). Smells of berries and lemon and herbs waft to my nose. Steam heats my forehead.

Jurate sleeps behind me. Softly, softly.

Footsteps in the corridor. Slamming doors, creaking floors, chipper voices, faintly humming refrigerators.

Next moment.

I'll teach two hours of Thai massage in a minute or two.

Followed by sixty minutes of deep opening yoga.

Followed by thirty minutes of play.

Should anyone care to join.

Last moment.

Meditation on mindfulness. Meditation on breath. Meditation on release through writing. 

A seventy-five minute vinyasa flow session.

Jurate wakes and rises behind me. Softly, softly.

Puts on her shoes.

Slowly, slowly.

I think I broke her in yoga this morning.

In part of the last moment. 

Now.

The room is dark.

A new cup of tea rests to my left.

don't think -- 

I don't.

My body is tired.  

I collapsed into a heavy hour-long coma after my two hours of teaching Thai.

I love giving massages... but they leave me feeling so drained.

Jurate didn't join me for yoga this afternoon.

I'm sure I broke her this morning. 

The group was a hard crowd.

No moaning, no groaning, no laughter or deep sighs of pleasure.

Just,

"Is this okay for you?"

"Yeah... it's okay."

...

Massage should be delicious.

Like coffee.

And bacon.

Not just "okay".

Maybe that's why I'm drained. Teaching massage to people who react like it's bacon makes teaching massage almost as nice as eating bacon.

Teaching massage to people who react like it's iceberg lettuce makes teaching massage almost as nice as eating... iceberg lettuce.

Which is significantly less nice than bacon.