This afternoon, I find myself sitting on a bamboo mat on the floor of a yoga studio in Vancouver, BC. I'm facing a group of 20 women who have come from Japan to take a two week yoga teacher training course. I'm here to sing the response portion of call and response chanting in Sanskrit to help them know when to chant. As Ginaji weaves stories throughout the kirtan to illustrate the metaphors, and has them translated into Japanese, my gaze drifts over to the wall of windows and I admire the cherry trees in full bloom outside. She has some direct interactions with the class in Japanese and I am totally oblivious to what she's saying, but I totally understand the facial expressions and resulting laughter. I love these now familiar stories and I never tire of hearing them. I love being immersed in a group speaking in a different language, it allows the universal language and heart connections to be felt stronger.
My smile grows as I realize being here is great, but it's not that unusual for me to find myself in this type of scenario. This is my life and I adore it. Suddenly, it occurs to me just how far my life has come from when I was a kid growing up in Lakeside, a blue collar neighbourhood just outside of Richmond, VA. There, this scenario would have been just as likely as me listening to stories while sitting on the moon.
The tremendous, heart opening leaps of faith that have brought me here are staggering to look back on. Everything that happened to lead me to this point is cherished, even the oh, so hard, stuff. On the eve of Easter, I'm sensitive to the rebirth that is happening within me and within all of us. Life is a constant cycle of death and resurrection.
When we were done singing Lay Back In The Arms Of Love in Japanese, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Hearts were opened, grief and gratitude were acknowledged, tears were shed and various levels of healing had begun. This is what life is about for me now, touching hearts and making a difference in people's lives.
Throughout my life, there has been a constant flame that burns within me. Call it the Holy Spirit, call it the Christ within, call it my inner Buddha nature, call it my soul, call it my mind, call it my psyche, call it what you will. It's eternal. It's beyond birth and death. It's essence is always Love and Light and always has been. My perception of it gets weak and feeble sometimes and gutters like a candle in the wind. It shrinks and hides to preserve itself sometimes, but it's always there. It's the one constant in my never ending changing flow of Now.
I've taken some pretty self destructive detours in my life. None of that matters. That I can sit in my bliss so calmly in a world that is so far from my origin is nothing less than a miracle. An ordinary, everyday miracle that shows me that nothing is beyond my reach. If I can dream it, I can be it. If I can't even conceive of it yet, I might just be living it someday in the future anyway. And if I can do it, anyone can. Just be aware of that flame. Trust it. Nurture it. Believe it's there.
As I finish this up, I'm off to bed. I have a 7am call time to sing with the Center of Spiritual Living's Choir of Light. Me, a woman who was convinced I was tone deaf until I was 45 years old. Again, the events that conspired to allow me to find my voice and then the courage to audition for a choir are nothing short of miraculous. Tomorrow, as I'm standing on the risers, dressed in all white, I'll be singing with gratitude and great joy. Yes, We Believe We Can Fly...
It's never too late. Ever. Happy Easter.
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