Onions and Patchouli


I smelled like onions in yoga class, today.  I apologized to the people who placed their mats next to mine and to Ann, our lovely teacher, for the homely scent that clashed with the patchouli incense.

I hurried to cook breakfast, and to ensure I would get out the door on time-- I dressed in my yoga clothing. I rushed out the door, missed my kisses-goodbye, sped down the road, windows cracked-- deposited my vehicle across two parking spaces, and made it to class on time.  

I overextended my morning, but managed to find moments of quiet, peace and gratitude in class.  With each lungful of air, I embraced calmness. Each draw lead me closer to awareness of what is important.  The pungent aroma reminded me of my mother’s roasts, my father's lobster gravy, and my two boys at home eating potatoes and eggs that I conjured up for them. Each inhalation championed gratitude. I can breathe. I can stretch, feel and think. If blessing had a fragrance-- for me, today, it would carry the whiff of sautéed onions. 

May we all experience peace and gratitude today; for all that is pleasing, but also for what we have and what we have let go.

We do not need perfection to locate what is in each of us.

Happy Thanksgiving.