
There we all were. Yoga mats scattered throughout my living area. My furniture banished to outer rooms. My friends and neighbors invited in for yoga. We love this teacher, Dean, with the fervor of disciples. My living room was the only available space for a summer session. We can squish 18 of us in there. I love having all this wonderfulness in my house.
As he invites us to βdrop in to ourselvesβ to start the class, the hammers start up. Then the dropping of plywood sheets, like thunder claps. Then the power saws, like the drilling of Gulliverβs teeth. There is a new bed and breakfast being constructed just below me. I did not realize this when I offered my space.
Dean, of course, is nonplussed. He offers, βThere are always distractionsβ, and I donβt hear the rest of what he says because I am focused on, βOh my God! This is so loud! New tourist housing in my neighborhood? How dare they! I should have known about this!β And all that drama. Not very yogi of me.
Then, I open my eyes and see all these lovely men and women in my living room. I see the beautiful day outside. I see my wood beams above.
I take that deep breath and drop in, hammers and all.
ππππππ πβππππππ ππ π πΆπππ‘πππππ πΏπππ πππ ππππβπ‘ πΆπππβ. πβπβπ πππ π πππππ‘π ππππ’π‘ π‘πππβπππ π€ππππ π‘π πππ π 50 ππ ππππ πππ’πππ β¦.πππππππππ‘ππ¦. ππ ππππ ππππ πππππ. ππ ππππ π π‘ππ’ππππ.