Yoga Of Tenderness

When the tenderness comes,

See if you can feel her landing,

Like a bird,

In your palm.

And notice the shocking naivety of a small being who doesn't expect to be hurt.

See if her downy,

Yellow feathers meet your fingertips,

Present and bare.

How does it feel to have resisted kindness for all these years?

Where in your body have you rejected the devotion of your own heart?

Where in your belly have you braced for the terror of being seen?

And shut out the gentle sympathy of a deep,

Slow,

Wind tenderness sits in your palm,

Cocking her little head to regard you with an unblinking eye.

Can you feel seen?

Can you stay a moment here,

Breathing the dew-perfumed grass?

Tasting the sweet breeze?

Receiving light like a leaf?

Or feeling the sole of your own foot on the earth?

Can you feel your whole self in the gaze of tenderness?

As brave as your first heartbeat?