It is late on a Saturday night, a stiff drink in hand (an odd occurrence for me), Joni Mitchell coming from the speakers and a good 9 inches of snow falling gracefully outside my window. It leaves me to reflect on the glory of my life and the small moments of holiness that appear when we least expect it.
We have spend the evening with a group of people who all do yoga at our neighborhood yoga studio. A small family studio created in their home. These people braved the depths of snow to share a meal and a few words with people they don’t know well. Many live within walking distance and so came over snow drifts with hot food and cold salads to share.
We told stories of why or how we came to yoga or what it means in our lives. We shared good healthy food and a glass or two of wine. We shared laughter and reflections of our lives. We shared quiet thoughts of how our world has come to this place of violence and fear. We shared the role of art and movement in the lives of children or our lives – all who need to learn how to handle the world of frustrations and fear. Can art help? Can yoga help?
In this short time we were graced with smiles, gentle talk and views of a winter wonderland. It was a quiet and holy time as we began to build a community. A word used in the yogic tradition or Buddhist tradition for this gathering is Sangha. It has a deeper meaning than just a group of people who gather.
It is not your gathering at the neighborhood bar or a gathering for happy hour on the deck. This is one where people reach into each others lives and hold each other in a safe and I would say sacred space. This does not happen often and we tumbled upon it while being embraced but the winter snows. All being held in the comfort of new friends and holy moments.
There can be peace and grace!
(The morning after)