*Content warning: discusses sexual assault*
The yoga instructor dims the lights for shavasana, corpse pose. It’s my first time in her class and I already know that I will never take another class from her. I try to let go of my frustration and let my limbs sink into the mat, paying close attention to my breath, reminding myself that it’s almost over.
From the pattern of her footsteps, stopping at each mat down the line, and from the sudden citrus smell, I gather that she’s going to each person and rubbing something onto them. I’ve experienced this in yoga classes before. The instructor comes around to anoint each forehead with oil, or places her hands on our shoulders. Usually, I enjoy this. I find the touch of hands soothing; it gives the moment a holiness, a specialness. Continue reading “Playing Dead in Corpse Pose | Hannah Adkison”