I arrive broken open; happily Humpty Dumptied, I am warmly whooshed through the front door into a place previously known. Everyone who greets me is over the age of 80, infirmed, using canes, walkers, their own very sore two feet, ready to practice Yoga in the Chapel.
I try to remember what my life was like before I had this regular appointment, and all I can ever come up with is this fuzzy loneliness, an achey bereft heart, like I only had half my mojo. How fabulously unbelievable to be uplifted, upheld and loved by such fiercely brave women, all of them meeting the very end of their lives with grace, humor and a hunger to learn something new.
Each one of them are very hard workers. We start in chairs, standup, sit down, breathe, move the chairs to the wall, breathe some more, laugh; 60 minutes I coax and cajole and coddle. And then on our final exhale together, as we are entering savasana, I ask, “What colors do you see? Say them out loud if you feel like it.” From the middle of the room, I hear Joan say, “Sparkles, we are sparkling.”
Transformation at it’s finest.
My day is made.