Working at Yogala on Saturdays is serene. For the past three weeks, the four hour block has been dedicated to working on this website. (Gratitude.) As I'll be finishing the initial composition today, I don't know what I'll do with the time next week. Maybe paint my toe nails.
A frazzled girl in a drooping spring skirt lumbered in thirty minutes ago, eyes pleading for the community acupuncture class. She became despondent when I shared Kathy had not made it in today. She needed the class, she said, because she was hosting a party and did I think it was going to rain today because it was going to be an outdoor party and do you know what else, she said, I really hate it when I teacher tells you to breathe because I don't know how to do that so I have to learn but I don't know where to start.
She looked at me and added, I don't need acupuncture to ground myself for this party though. I can go home and stretch. Or walk, I suggested. Yah, she said. Yah, maybe I'll walk to the corner store and buy donut holes for the cake I'm making. That could be fun. To walk to the store and make a cake and have the time to do so.
She left with a thankyou, her skirts trailing behind her; a Saturday vent.
There are articles filling our screens, talking heads on the parameters of our life, telling us how we should act and what we should eat, where we should make home and how we should live life to it's fullest potential.
I wonder if what we are actually in lack of, in need of, is a pair of eyes locked onto ours in full, attentive awareness. Our collarbones leaning in to listen close to the mouth craving to be heard, to be understood, to have quiet validation without a spoken word back.
I am here, she did not say. I see you, I did not reply.