There is a little tiny doll-sized village that’s set up near a tree that I’ve passed by a few times while I’ve been running. It’s adorable, and quite magical.
Magical in the way that I think maybe fairies call it their home, and that perhaps little Kebler elves nest inside the tree and walk out to these pretty grounds when they leave their midnight shift.
The most magical thing about this little village, though, is that I can never find it when I’m looking for it.
It seems ridiculous and quite silly. I mean, I’ve lived in the same house for nearly four years now. I know the neighborhoods quite well from walking the dogs and my occasional running bursts. I should know where to find it and how to get there.
But I think it moves. It sounds ridiculous, but I think someone out there is really trying to mess with my brain. It seems that every time I find it, it’s in a new location. Maybe it’s my brain on running and my memory doesn’t serve me especially well (I once thought my glove on a winter run was a furry animal trying to attack me, and sprinted way far ahead until I realized my mistake), or maybe it’s some retired person’s idea of a good time.
Or maybe it’s a magical little fairy village, and it only pops up when I need it.
This has been a very difficult week. Admist preparations for leaving town for two weeks, and the debut of our first Kansas City yoga teacher group education and networking event, there was a great loss that affected a lot of us in the community. As yoga teachers, we often are asked to hold space for others as they practice. And when we need comfort, when we are hurting, we are still asked to show up and to do our job.
It can make teaching yoga both beautiful and excruciating.
This week, I am studying the nature of aparigraha. Non-possessiveness. Letting go. Impermanence.
Just like the little fairy hut I can only find when I’m not looking for it, I find my moments of peace, my connection to God, my safe places in the strangest of places. In the midst of a sobbing fit where it feels like I’m gasping for air. In the middle of a crowded room with whom I feel as if I share no connections. On runs where I find little hints at the magic that just might still exist.
We find these moments when we stop searching for them. We find peace when we stop searching for it. We find love when we give up. We find connection to God in the midst of tragedy.
So where, might I ask, are you still holding on? Where are you still searching out your own little tree village? When can you let go?
If it’s not today, it’s okay. There is time, my friends. If we have nothing else, we have time.
(Note: I will be absent from my blog throughout the rest of April as I travel to Portland to study with my teacher. I’ll return in May chalk full of new wisdom.)