Forty pounds have vanished from fat pockets throughout my body. Seven moons ago, this temple sagged from the burdens of gravity and depression. Treadmills, free-weights and protein have resurrected this ravaged soul that seven years ago, was held in bondage by anti-psychotic medications.
Like Israelites in the desert, I have eaten the manna of mania, but returned to the promise of life I once remembered. Depression was excruciating– a test of my soul it seemed until I ate the bread of thought and imagination again.
For five years I was hopeless and believed the temptations of psychiatry. I ran, on a treadmill, from the false prophets of psychology.
Making my bed each day caused much sadness– if only I could escape forever into the little sleep that came over me, never to wake to face the burdens of day and my heaviness.
My prayers for death were in vain. Now, much thinner, I see the light.
This body, my salvation, at forty, runs five miles in a half-hour as my mind escapes to the place of dreams.
My legs again stretch and I twist them to hook on my neck behind my head in a position of pure Yoga bliss.
Fear has departed me, and I sense while unwinding my legs from prayer, that hope is weightless.