Today when I lay down in shavasana I feel my hair against my neck as my head touches the ground. Abundant shiny hair. I think of Shiva’s hair – scooped up on his head, adorned by a crescent moon. The king of yogis. His hair is power and beauty. There is the sense of being adorned by your own strength – coiffed by your inner resources. Power, beauty. Inner, outer. Depth, surface. The veil between inner and outer dissolves. I notice that my body feels suspended just a teeny bit above the ground – as if there is a sheet of space between floor and flesh.