I am not an independent woman.

I was reminded of this recently,

when my shoulder froze.

When I cried in pain in my car;

and healers and friends surrounded me and cared

and worked miracles

and brought magic.

I am not an independent woman.

I remember when I look at the man by my side,

supporting the latest iteration of my self,

some project,

some grand manifestation not of his making.

I am not an independent woman.

I am aware of the ancestors,

their stories and struggles,

that have led to this; to me.

And the students, young and old, who listen to me

and follow my suggestions on the yoga mat,

or in life.

And the songs of the swans,

the soaring of eagles,

the prancing across my driveway of does and fawns;

made for me stop and wonder.

Each breath requires forces beyond my control.

Each moment is an opportunity for me to grow and learn and give;

which would be nothing without you.

I am not an independent woman.