Photo by Ben Moon
What are you thankful for?
These words came from my father, sitting at the head of the table, Thanksgiving dinner. One big dead bird in the middle of it.
My parents live in 100 Mile House, B.C. A place that, when I was a teenager, seemed to be the most desolate and soul sucking crater in the universe. While driving there by myself a few days ago I was amazed at the quiet and engrossing beauty of the places I encountered on the way. Every piece of scenery that I encountered on the drive north struck me with the same holiness. I was amazed at my change of perspective. I was a part of every tree, mountain, every dancing leaf and tumble weed. 100 Mile House seemed like a place of pilgrimage. I thought... thank you Yoga. My practice is working.
I labeled it good.
My ego was swiftly and comically heeled. I got to my parents house glazed in happiness. Soon after we were all interrupting each other, telling the same stories, forcing our opinions, and ignoring each other - I was irritated as can be, and I realized how un-enlightened I actually was.
I labeled it bad.
I had to laugh.
What are you thankful for?
It seemed like something opened space with that question. It was like I actually listened to the question without circumnavigating the moment. Because the question cut through all the bull %#$@.
I am very thankful.
For life- and that means my parents.
Thank you Mum and Dad, for giving me this life. You are both wonderful.
No matter what I think - it is still just thinking - but the feeling of gratitude is beyond words. Beyond good or bad.
I felt it standing there by the misty lake with my two sisters by my side. No words, no thoughts, just drinking the morning sun through our frosty skin, and opening our ears to the big silent ohm.
One heart between us.
What are you thankful for?
Lydia
