Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 23

My tree pose was wobbly. I focused on the burly oak at the far end of the yard, the one with the neatly carved hole which occasionally housed the family of squirrels. I thought of its two up-stretched limbs as my own reaching toward the sky. And yet my center was gone. I swayed, as capricious as a willow in a springtime gust, and finally I had to put my left foot down.

Jason sat at the table, sipping his tea, his eyes on the feeder out the side window and the titmouse who sat there. The soft grey tuft on the bird's head made him seem a wild-eyed teenager, eager to shock his parents. The titmouse snatched at a sunflower seed, settled it in his beak, and then swooped off to an aspen to diligently peck into it.

Jason's voice was soft and reassuring. "Anyone would be shaken up by last night," he murmured.

I stretched my right leg back, angling that foot perpendicular to the mat. My left foot went point-forward in parallel. I stretched out my two arms, one back, one forward, becoming a human starfish. But unlike that noble beast, if one of my limbs had been cut off, it would not regenerate. It would be gone forever, an eternal reminder of how close I had come to that final crossover.

I reined in my mind. Pose: Warrior II.

I looked forward, settling my left knee down, stretching my arms out fore and aft as if I was surfing on my yoga mat. I strived for that balance – half the weight on my front foot, half on back. Balance on my back foot's right edge, the furthest point there. Press my forward, left foot firmly into the mat.

Breathe.

My thoughts were floating, drifting clouds. Yes, certainly, they were sometimes storm-clouds, sizzling with an energy that I could feel through every atom of my body. And yet they were simply thoughts. Simply bursts of electrical energy that, if I released them of attention, would eventually drift away. The more I practiced, the more I could disengage from being controlled by them. Surely I would never be perfect – but that was not the point. Even the most adept monks were still troubled by circling thoughts. The aim was solely to become slightly better at separating oneself from the control of those thoughts. To have the ability to stand apart, to watch them, and to view them objectively.

A smile came to my lips. And when I did that, was it simply another corner of my mind which watched that first set of operations? And if I drew back again, was it a third corner of my mind watching the first two? Just how many vantage points did my mind hold? At what point could I look down at all of the lightning-storm operations of my brain, the reptilian core, the esoteric beauty center, and believe I beheld it all?

I moved through the various stages of my routine, the rolling cat, the bridge pose, the bliss of savasana where I lay flat on my back and simply breathed in the luxury of being alive, of having a roof over my head and food in my pantry. So many on Earth dreamt of such luxuries. I would not take them for granted.

At last I sat cross-legged, looking through the slider at the back yard. A downy woodpecker hung on the suet feeder, nibbling contentedly at his morning meal, and I pressed my hands together at my chest.

"Namaste," I offered him and the world.

"Namaste," echoed Jason, smiling down at me.

I stood, and he went to the fridge, filling a glass with ice and adding in my protein shake. He brought it to me as I sat with him at the table.

His eyes held mine as I began drinking my breakfast. "The police seem to be taking our theories more seriously now," he commented.

"Well, we were nearly run off the road, and someone did break into Matthew's house," I agreed. "Whoever it is seems willing to take some drastic action to keep his secret safe."