Namaste. Welcome. Hello.
It’s just me, a run-of-the-mill, branded metal water bottle here at your yoga class exuding gentle menace despite my presumably stable shape that should absolutely have a better center of gravity than a bowling pin.
I see your mat is the 2.5 allotted inches away from me. Good parking spot! Glad the studio’s tape marks could guide you in like a parallel yoga-mat parking Lululemon-mobile. I follow my own path, which means I’ll happily be rolling under your feet like a log at the lumberjack games as soon as you turn your back and we launch into vrksasana. Oh, excuse me, I mean tree pose for you dilettantes.
Think you can avoid me? Look left, look right, look up. Now, look inward. What do you see? That’s right: pure anxiety as you await my inevitable crash against the floor after you’ve finally let your day go as prescribed during motherfucking SAVASANA, the one you EARNED after paying $35 and KILLING it for 90 goddamn minutes.
NOT SO FAST — I see you inching away, looking for an overpriced multicultural appropriated blanket the studio owner definitely bought on Amazon to cushion my inevitable fall. HA! You know, I know, WE KNOW, my top is 100% made of lead and makes me IMPOSSIBLE to stay upright. Are you FLINCHING?
I get it. You absolutely have shellshock from the last time you lay your head within a foot of my cylindrical shape and grayed out into corpse pose blotto. It was enough to send you to that disgusting den of carpeted sock paradise — barre class. BARF!
Well, YOU’RE back and so am I. But guess what. WHO DO YOU THINK will get the entire class’s attention? That’s right, ME, not you. I am the pinnacle of eco-conscious vesselware. While my corporate bank logo and dubious conference origins may cheapen me in your eyes, rest assured, I am 100% surgical grade titanium, OSTENSIBLY. When you open me, I will downward dog your nostrils with my impossible-to-fully-clean forever mildew-y scent. TASTE ME!!!! That’s right: loose change from your uncle’s JUNK drawer.
What is my purpose here? Is that rhetorical? DUH. It’s to HYDRATE OR DIE. But really, REALLY, I’m here for the same reasons as you. ENLIGHTENMENT. But I’m REASONABLE. I will ACCEPT rebirth (reuse, RECYCLE). Here’s to motherfucking REINCARNATION BABY: a cymbal, a car crash, or even a goddamn GONG.
See you at the SOUND BATH!!!
