The Place of Stopping

Early, 5 ish. I squat next to my single bucket of hot water and the call to prayer comes through the window. I feel like someone out of the past engaged in a traditional yoga practice or maybe a character out of Homeland? 

Either way, I’m no longer in Baltimore. Simple life in India is really quite nice. First I had to find the place of stopping. My life at home is filled with responsibilities that keep me task oriented pretty much all of the time. Even my practice is somewhat task oriented. Here though, there is nothing but practice in the morning.

The value of this kind of space and the bounty in being able to stop for awhile exists in the invisible realm. It is hard to talk about, for me, it is even hard to believe it; until, like an Indian coconut dropping on my head, I find myself still, squatting before a single bucket of water. Then I realize, I’ve stopped and I am here. Here I am, resting in my own goodness, resting in my own peace.

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