I don't think this is what Patañjali had in mind...
Things I Think About Whilst in Corpse Pose
Foreworm: Yes, we're here to deliver you back to the earth. Think of us as the parcel masters of nature. We're taking you to
the next phase.
Me: Oh good. Thank you.
Foreworm: It's no trouble.
The worms get to work, under the direction of the foreworm. Their nibbling tickles, and I laugh. The foreworm looks up from his work.
Foreworm: You know, don't take this the wrong way, but most people aren't very happy to see us.
Me: Yeah, I'm an odd one. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you -
Foreworm: Oh no, it's just... well, it is a little weird.
Me: Yeah.
The foreworm shrugs and gets back to his work. When the beetles arrive they're very shy, and I try not to startle them by giggling too loud, or moving suddenly.
And I can't decide whether or not I fail at yoga because of this.
- How nice it would be to be buried, snuggled all nice and cool in the earth. (Don't worry, not suicidal. Just like, in a purely hedonistic way. How comfortable a bed deep inside the earth would be. Cool and perfectly dark and soft and good for napping. )
- Lying in my grave, dead, and having the worms show up to take care of my body. They are directed by a foreman-worm who is perhaps wearing a tiny hardhat. Our conversation goes like this:
Foreworm: Yes, we're here to deliver you back to the earth. Think of us as the parcel masters of nature. We're taking you to
the next phase.
Me: Oh good. Thank you.
Foreworm: It's no trouble.
The worms get to work, under the direction of the foreworm. Their nibbling tickles, and I laugh. The foreworm looks up from his work.
Foreworm: You know, don't take this the wrong way, but most people aren't very happy to see us.
Me: Yeah, I'm an odd one. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you -
Foreworm: Oh no, it's just... well, it is a little weird.
Me: Yeah.
The foreworm shrugs and gets back to his work. When the beetles arrive they're very shy, and I try not to startle them by giggling too loud, or moving suddenly.
- Then I remembered that I'm going to be creamated, not buried, and my corpse pose will consist of being tossed up into the world and flying around on the air and wind. I'll feel the sunlight on the edges of the ashes as I spin around on the breeze. I'll shiver and hum when I settle on the cold salt water, and float until some fish swallows me away.
And I can't decide whether or not I fail at yoga because of this.