New York, New York, a sunny yoga studio on the northeast corner of 8th Ave. and 17th St. I'm in the corner of that corner, right in the path of sun coming in from the south. I can't see shit and the instructor doesn't use the words left and right too often. "Morgan! Where's your sail? Can't you see what everyone else is doing?" Yep, the lunge we were just doing had evolved into Warrior III. I came out and squinted around to see people's hands in ten different configurations behind their backs. "Now lower an arm to the ground and stretch the other one up." Which arm? Are we doing Half Moon or the revolved form of the pose? Everyone knew I was the new kid in class, but I didn't walk in advertising my dis/ability with dark glasses, white cane and seeing eye dog. And whether I can see or not, and whether you know that or not, stop shouting at me. Just give everybody the support they need when they need it.
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