I notice the twinkle in 5-year-old Neville’s eyes and I figure he’s found a spider, or another grub, and wants to teach me how to hold it without squirming . . . . or screaming. Continue reading
“Breathe in, ‘Om.’ ”
“Breathe out. ‘Shanti (peace).’ ”
In the early evening class, I find myself beaming.
Om, breathing in.
Shanti, breathing out.
“Use this in your daily life,” he says. “In traffic. In the dentist’s chair. Be a lighthouse.”
I float out of class, late spring raindrops fall like sugar dust on my airy head, breathing in, breathing…
OUCH. Continue reading
Some times I can feel my bones straining under the weight of my thoughts. And that’s wrong, all wrong, so I strain more in the down dog position, where my arms and wrists and shoulders take on the weight of my trunk.
My trunk. What a word for my body, which is pack full of multi-grain toast this morning, as well as three cups of hot green tea that have not found a way to warm my too-cold fingers as I type about my bones.
But the heaviest weight is definitely my thoughts. Continue reading
The outlook is bleak for millions of us as we peer outside our windows. We now live in a gray and white world.
I want sun, no, I NEED sun like the birds and the bees and all the flowers (not) on the trees… Ah ha, I know what I’ll do. Continue reading
Before the snows begin, and the ice and sleet, I walk in my new neighborhood to become familiar with all of the dips and cracks in the sidewalks and the wooded paths nearby. On this chilly day, I wear a decades-old red LL Bean overcoat and even older soft black gloves that I didn’t need when living in the San Francisco bay area.
I grumble a bit, allowing some self-pity.
At “home,” I’d still be wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
At “home,” I’d need a baseball hat to protect my face from the gleaming sun.
As leaves crunch beneath my shoes, my gloved third finger discovers a small crunch in its tip. Is it a years-old crumb? A small pebble from long-ago? Continue reading