Austin – The coolest morning since mid-Spring greets me like another town, perhaps waking me for traveling. I leave for Cape Town in a few hours.
A spontaneous yawn sets the course for my practice today. I let my face welcome it and then another. I goad them on gently, sipping air into my beach ball open mouth, until my internal yawn maker takes over and pulls in a little more. My rear jaw is jacked open by this air pump, releasing night tightness.
Then that moment of slowing right before the cusp of the falls, when the structure can hold no more air and gives way to the great release, returning air to the room on the most naturally supported sound I know. There is no strain anywhere in yawn sounds. They are animal.
Yawns are contagious even when I’m alone. One leads to the next. The sound vibrates my whole torso. My eyes water. Each one feels like an internal massage, stretching my chest, my belly, my head.
Then I play with the tails of the exhale sounds, keeping effort low by smiling a little and letting it end when it ends. This is languid, my head becomes loose on its neck.