megna musings
creative elements drawn from my life of yoga
east village, nyc.
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excerpt from a short story about a woman scientist named Rika
He smoked most of the joint, smiled beatifically, and walked me to my car. I promised I would come see him for class again soon, thanked him for his time, and then, when I was sure he had walked a bit away, I opened the back door of the car, got in, closed the door…
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water
Stand by the water when the moon rises heavy, ethereal and precious because you cannot hold it. All you can have is its color, the ribbons of silver that will throw itself at you, rippling infinitely closer, so close you cannot remember whether it is coming for you or if you had actually come here…
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Fire
Where does it come from, fire? Not the match on the box, or the flick of propane at the stove, though I am curious of those too— the human technology far more integral to my life than the wifi I unplug at bedtime and forget to plug back in until 6pm, 9pm, the day having…