Happy Birthday, Carlos (1968 - 2005)

If Carlos were alive, he would have been 40-years-old today, a number he truly dreaded. Even at 37, he was dunking his head in a jar of wrinkle cream. Last week, his killer was finally arrested. Three years later. A serial killer. So the suffering is larger and wider than even I could imagine.

I remember so many things about my friend, details too numerous to put down here, and right now, too sore, like a bruise that will never heal. One thing at a time...when I gave Carlos his first yoga mat, I didn't really expect him to take to it since his attention span was quite short. Maybe it was the outfits that kept him committed at first; but later, it was a deepening spiritual life that drew him to his mat again and again. When I first saw him rise into headstand, he did it with such grace, such assurance, I wanted to knock him over out of pure envy. It was like watching a heart lift up and out of the body, purely without intention or ego. So today, I celebrate that beautiful pose, that remarkable man with this:

Sirsana (Headstand)
Morning light rises across the dark room
like the sun up over the ocean.
Forming a cup with my palms
I pour my head into it,
let my legs spill against gravity,
uncurling toward the sky.
Standing the world on its head
everything I know is upended.
What I believed was inevitable--
what I once thought was solid
what I perceived as impossible--
that map of certainties
drawn on the sand of life
upturns in the tide.
King of all asanas,
everything is right where it should be
when the crown of my soul
rests blissfully in the palms
and I'm born
head-first to the world again,
like the sun over the Pacific,
taking my time
to rise.

by Leza Lowitz