arousal

When Squirrel was bent over in half pigeon, his tail extended full throttle, suspended midway between his paws and his jaw, his lower right paw pointing towards the solstice point- Mecca, his mind was a blank slate. This was the last refuge of his weary soul, some stank yoga studio in Midtown, the furnace blaring. Squirrel had been practicing yoga for years, but it was only recently that he had stumbled upon Bikram. Here in the now, Squirrel was a nothingness, a floating furry orb amidst the constellations. All he required was a meager sustenance in the form of a few acorns a day. Squirrel pledged in this moment that he would remain in yogic position as long as demanded in order to defeat the previous world record. Squirrel would remain in upward spiral for 1 year- meditating, grooving, inhabiting this lackluster material world.