GO AWAY. I’ve got a big stick and I’m not afraid to use it. . .
My yoga instructor recently spoke of sacred places. Of how a sacred place is a spot that allows us to connect to the truth within, and of, our soul.
I know what she means. For me, it’s a spot in our back yard between two maples. A tiny drop of heaven where I used to hang, and recently, re-hung my hammock.
For many years one of the trees was an old maple but dying limbs and neighbour’s worries pushed us to remove it. Man, how I grieved for that tree. For two years after cutting I could still feel its energy and imagine the rustle of leaves.
And, for the last six years, I’ve waited and watched those side shoots grow up.
Finally, last week I strung my twenty-two year old hammock back up and sunk back into Nirvana. Oh god, it was like that first ever orgasm (maybe not as many moans and groans) but pure, absolute, honest-to-heaven joy. The soul has been satisfied once again!
The best part though is I don’t have to share it—and I’m only going to say this out loud once—I’m glad husband suffers from motion sickness and Mother is too old to make it out back.
Yep, it’s mine, all mine . . . and I am prepared to keep living with my non-soulful attitude about my sacred space.
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