Moving through place and time with scleroderma is like trying to balance a scale and always being in movement, unable to stabilize. Searching for symmetry, I can see that the landscaping around me and my body is asymmetrical: The sky with its moving clouds; the Earth with each different from one another and randomly rooted; the ocean waves crushing against sand and rock with irregular white splashes. Lost in symmetry, my body finds itself in asymmetry. Letting go of previous expectations of centering, I learn that before me, in the darkness, asymmetry has a center as well; it is not a middle or a median – it is a point that sustains everything and all fluid pending variables. These variables, to me, are less mathematical than they are biological. With constant changes, breaths, skin tightening, pain, and mobility, my centering process becomes fluid and non-repetitive, following the rhythms of my breaths and heartbeats. It is time to “yoga.”

This is the time to get to know my body for its new essence, asymmetries, and eccentricities.

This is the time to listen – listen to silences and breaths.

My center changes every day. My center is constantly fluctuating and predictable in its instability.

Listen. Find the core. Find the point.