As I write this, a hawk watches from the tree outside my bedroom
window. He’s a royal prince, arriving at dusk and just in time to catch me from
spending too much time locked in thoughts. His acknowledged presence reawakens
me to the fading splendor of the moment – the last glow of sunlight on the
leaves, the evening hush falling gently on the street.
The hawk exudes such quiet strength, a peaceful majesty. His
observant, intuitive way of being answers a question I’ve been returning to
again and again these past few weeks.
I begin by replaying the scene: The Saturday morning blooms sunny and
crisp. I stand behind a glass door, my heart a flutter with pre-yoga teaching nerves.
I play the hostess role, standing at the entryway, on the lookout for yogis to welcome
and show them the way to a new yoga class space.
From my self-assigned doorwoman position, I see a barefoot boy pause
before crossing the street, motioning for a stopped car to go. The driver,
instead of simply preceding to turn the corner, explodes in a verbal rage.
“JUST FUCKING GO!” he roars. He continues to hurl obscenities as the
boy bolts across the street. The boy, his face scarlet, runs barefoot down the
block. The driver, fuming and cursing, turns, but his anger leaves an imprint
on the morning. I still stand at my post, behind the glass door, silent and in
disbelief.
A few minutes later, I take a seat on my yoga mat. Smiling yogis greet
me. The theme of the class – compassion in action, being a presence of peace –
holds a new heaviness. The scene outside puts into glaring focus what it means
to truly be a presence of peace in this world.
I am troubled to think that I am just a bystander. I wish I had been
an advocate for the boy. The confusion of the moment left me truly stunned. It happened
so quickly and a part of me can’t believe I saw what I saw: a kid verbally abused
for not crossing the street soon enough. I’ve seen actors explode on screen but
I’ve never seen someone in real life unleash such rage.
In this moment, before I begin the class I’ve been longing to teach,
the one combining my passion and my heartbreak, I silently hold the boy in my heart.
I think of the driver, too. I let go of the need to psychoanalyze him. I feel
compassion for his struggle, his projected pain.
A part of me thinks it’s rather silly now to sit on a yoga mat and
breathe in peace and send it out to the world, but my wiser self tells me to
rise. She reigns. The nervousness I felt disappears with a deeper conviction to
teach from a place of peace, a place of awareness and presence.
I am grateful for my co-teacher, my kindergarten soul mate who is a
true example of compassion in action and she will listen to this story with
understanding and love.
I am committed to the students in front of me. I feel such gratitude
for this conscientious group of yogis who took the time and effort to come to a
new place for a Saturday morning class.
This breath, this moment, and this class is an opportunity to be
peaceful, to move with intention, to offer a safe space for self-acceptance.
This peace may only be present until the end of savasana; or maybe a sense of
calm stays with one student for the rest of the day. One conscious breath, even
if it is my own, is worth it.
The practice doesn’t erase the scene I witnessed. It’s a harsh
reminder that people in my community are struggling and makes me question how
can I truly be a presence of peace in my hometown.
At this thought, the hawk flies away, off into the twilight. I’m
grateful he stayed for as long as he did, a motivator to focus and write. I’ve
been on my own a bit too much today. My thoughts were growing mean. The sudden
sight of the hawk brought me back to kinder, gentler self and brought me to the
blank page.
“Embrace presence,” says Eckhart
Tolle, “the place where life happens.”
How to be a presence of peace? The hawk reminds me to be kind to myself,
for peace begins from within, and to be compassionate to others, for we are all
waging our own battles.
The hawk’s watchfulness, his intuitive way of being is a lesson: be
here, be a witness, and know when it’s time to act, to fly.
