Vision Quest
Progressive insanities of a yoga beginner
Ben Poggemiller, Staff
I grab a quick drink of water and lie down in the corpse pose and I am unsteady. Then I am gone.
I am ensconced in darkness. Suddenly out of the darkness, I see explosions of colour. Red, white, and yellow detonate in front of my eyes.
I am in a forest, surrounded by trees. I cannot see the tops of them. A doe prances by me and she says, “Look up!” I look up to see a spotted eagle perched on a branch. His wings are outspread and I notice that he has the face of my editor, Evan Johnson, who seems to be from another life. He says, “hcraeser erom. hcraeser erom,” and starts to fly away. I cannot take my eyes off of him and I run after the editorial eagle, not looking where I am going. I am running as fast as I can, yet I am not sweating and I am not tired. He shoots upward and I finally look away. I am floating above a barren desert. Off in the distance is a rugged sierra. There is no sun in the sky, yet it is stunningly bright. I look up again to see the face of the eagle stretched out across the sky. “Eraweb!” he says and disappears.
My feet are on the ground. I did not fall, but it was as if the ground came up to meet me. Before me is a black elk and behind the elk is a small, dilapidated wooden shack, with firelight flickering through the one small window. I try to approach the door of the shack, but the black elk moves to block my path, no matter which way I go. I think that maybe he wants me to ride him. As soon as I jump on his back he throws me. Guess not. He does not open his mouth but I hear him say, “Behold the Emperor. Don’t fly with your boots on.” He steps out of the way so I can enter the shack. I do.
Inside the shack, sitting on a wooden stool is the figure of a young boy, but I know that he is asymptotical to the age of the world. In his left hand is an oak staff and in his right is a small wooden box, which is open. I try to look inside the box, but there is only void. The Emperor whispers to me, “The flotsam is approaching.” His voice gets louder as he says, “Drift with it. Lose your vector and find your magnitude.” He is shouting by the time he says: “For you know on which set of wings you will fly.” Finally, with his eyes closed, he shouts, “Find your boots!”
The last words reverberate through my head as I re-enter my body. I am in the child’s pose. The class is almost over and I go into the final savasana. It is like I have never left, but I know I have been farther away than I have ever been in my life. As we file out, I am exhausted but I feel better than I have in a long time. I grab a quick drink of water and lie down in the corpse pose and I am unsteady. Then I am gone.
I am ensconced in darkness. Suddenly out of the darkness, I see explosions of colour. Red, white, and yellow detonate in front of my eyes.
I am in a forest, surrounded by trees. I cannot see the tops of them. A doe prances by me and she says, “Look up!” I look up to see a spotted eagle perched on a branch. His wings are outspread and I notice that he has the face of my editor, Evan Johnson, who seems to be from another life. He says, “hcraeser erom. hcraeser erom,” and starts to fly away. I cannot take my eyes off of him and I run after the editorial eagle, not looking where I am going. I am running as fast as I can, yet I am not sweating and I am not tired. He shoots upward and I finally look away. I am floating above a barren desert. Off in the distance is a rugged sierra. There is no sun in the sky, yet it is stunningly bright. I look up again to see the face of the eagle stretched out across the sky. “Eraweb!” he says and disappears.
My feet are on the ground. I did not fall, but it was as if the ground came up to meet me. Before me is a black elk and behind the elk is a small, dilapidated wooden shack, with firelight flickering through the one small window. I try to approach the door of the shack, but the black elk moves to block my path, no matter which way I go. I think that maybe he wants me to ride him. As soon as I jump on his back he throws me. Guess not. He does not open his mouth but I hear him say, “Behold the Emperor. Don’t fly with your boots on.” He steps out of the way so I can enter the shack. I do.
Inside the shack, sitting on a wooden stool is the figure of a young boy, but I know that he is asymptotical to the age of the world. In his left hand is an oak staff and in his right is a small wooden box, which is open. I try to look inside the box, but there is only void. The Emperor whispers to me, “The flotsam is approaching.” His voice gets louder as he says, “Drift with it. Lose your vector and find your magnitude.” He is shouting by the time he says: “For you know on which set of wings you will fly.” Finally, with his eyes closed, he shouts, “Find your boots!”
The last words reverberate through my head as I re-enter my body. I am in the child’s pose. The class is almost over and I go into the final savasana. It is like I have never left, but I know I have been farther away than I have ever been in my life. As we file out, I am exhausted but I feel better than I have in a long time.
