The Yogi in me sees the Yogi in you~

I celebrated seventeen years of marriage this weekend.
In the White mountains of Midway.
Pretty sweet.

The Mister and I are in the car, driving through the canyon on our way to some needed time alone.
And I am wondering how to engage in conversation about anything but,
budget, kids and who needs what.


I feel uncomfortable, strange and thrilled all at once...
Because I know that soon the walls will come down, and we will remember how to let go of what
we are leaving behind,
And embrace what lies ahead.
We only have 2 days, and I silently vow to make it matter.

We pass two bald eagles standing on the icy edge of Deer Creek, they are poking their head into the water and flapping their wings of wonder.  It's golden hour.
That's what our good friend Jon used to call this time of day, when the sun spills,  making everything golden for just a moment.

We talk about Jon.  His life.  His legacy.  His absence.  We remember our trip to the Napali together and the pictures his eye captured on film and we wonder out loud if we are living our lives with
passion the way Jon did.

And we let ourselves go to that place.
Our place, our island, the chance we weren't brave enough to take.  We silently vow to take that job in
Molokai if it every comes up again.  We wonder if God really meant for us to be Haule when we feel so Hawaiian inside.

I feel golden too,  as I watch the brilliant shadows of light swirl and pour over the tallest trees to the tiny streams flowing into the lake, giving it is power, its life.

We start off the night with a warm cup of passion fruit tea,  and watch the steam swirl in the cold air next to the window that reaches out to the white mountains tucked between a trail here and a homestead there,
The walls come down.  And suddenly the present is so very present.

The next morning we take a Yoga class together, and twist our bodies in strange unfamiliar stretches,
as I silently curse Garrett for being so darn stretchy.
He totally kicks my butt.

But we have our very own Yogi master, and he quietly tells me to stay in my integrity.  I wonder if he is telling me to spilt and head for the coke machine.
What is my integrity?
Hmmm.

Yogi interrupts my thoughts again.
Stay on the path, he tells me.
And I vow to stay focused on the movement of my body.
Then I think about diet coke and a hot tub....
Focus...Focus...Focus.


Mr. Yogi comes to me and gently lifts my head off of the floor to put a pillow beneath it.
I am liking my path more and more.
Yogi tells me to focus on my breath and only my breath...I watch my belly rise and fall and think maybe just maybe this Yogi thing is for me.

And suddenly, I feel as Zen as a lotus flower on a mossy rock, stretching my roots to embrace what once seemed impenetrable.  In the quite of my mind I hear my voice again.  MY voice.  The one I shut down day after day in my lame effort to be this or that.

I feel brave.
I am remembering me.  The good. The bad. The ugly.
And I embrace it all.
Now that is some serious zen baby.