My Secret Hiding Place

10:17 am  Shhh. 

No one knows I'm here.  The children are watching Jimmy Neutron, DH (dear husband) is out for a run.  I light a candle, take a breath.  And grin.

I'm giddy.  No one even knows I eked out this space in our front room 2 days ago, pushing aside mountains of clutter to unearth my alter and set the Japanese screen out one foot, maybe two, just enough for a cushion to sit on.  My heart sang every time I thought of tiptoeing behind the screen, and now here I am, in my little cocoon.

This used to be my yoga space, this room, before it was taken over one Christmas by a trampoline, a drum set, and then as fast as I could move things out more stuff came in - beach bags, stacks of books to be donated, socks to be sorted, a printer, an AIR HOCKEY table, for crying out loud.  I'm a yoga teacher!  How did this happen?!

Back when I was a busy executive, I thought down time was a waste of time.  I felt in charge of so much - what would the world come to, if I didn't use every second to produce or plan?  I would have mocked the idea of needing a place to sit still.

Then life became more complicated, unpredictable.  It set me spinning, running, falling, and yoga caught me, centered me.  Now the only way I keep it together is by going inside.  I meditate on the fly: before teaching, saying goodnight, while the kids are in time-out.  Deep breaths.  Portable peace. 

I've been overwhelmed this year, both by the joy of our children and their busy lives (who can resent their art projects, their books, their toys?) and multiple crises that took precedence over everything else, letting it all pile up over every square inch.  To the point where I bemoaned to Vijai, my yoga teacher, "I'll never be able to clear it out, and even if I do, it'll just pile up again."

"You don't need much," Vijai said.  "Just room to sit."  And suddenly, I can see it.  A cocoon.  Clearing an entire room is too much to take on.  But an alter, a candle, a cushion, and me?   Make way!  Here I am.  Breathing in, breathing out.

10:22 am  DH is back.  I blow out the candle. 

Oh well, I think, it's a start.  One moment, one point of peace, will surely lead to more.  I go find him, and whisper, come and see.  He looks behind the screen, and then at the rest of the room.  "Let's move the printer out of here," he says.  And we do.  A good start, indeed.

P.S.  How do you keep your sanity?  Do you meditate?  Would you like to try?