A rainy night

I walked home from yoga tonight on a slick pavement, cris-crossing the city blocks along the black licorice grid that evenly divides this city into neighborhoods and neighborhoods and neighborhoods.

This is not supposed to happen in Yoga, but tonight at the very end of class, the lights dimmed in this hot, packed classroom and my forehead found the mat as I slid into the comfortable "child's pose" and without warning, giant, fat tears began to roll down my face. No one was paying attention so I indulged them for a minute and let my whole body feel the blanket of sadness that curled around every inch of flesh. Maybe it was the acoustic guitar or maybe it was fatigue or maybe it was the picture on the front page of the New York Times of 3 young men carrying a dying classmate in Gaza...

I miss Zambia today. I miss my friends and colleagues and I miss the mangos and holding hands while we walk and eating with my hands and the birds that sing to us in the morning and the bats that lull us to sleep at night. I miss chetenge and singing and dancing and bartering in the market.

Tomorrow I preach at a healing and wholeness service, so I get to find comfort in the story of Hannah tonight as I prepare...



What a broken world. A sad, broken world.