Fired up watching one of Yusef’s videos, I almost was late to yoga. Driver was kind and trusting as he let me go and waited for me to find someone to get change for the ride.
Super stoked bc one of favorite yogis, Nadia (check her out. SO Osana Family Wellness in Maadi) is back from Maternity Leave. Her Urban Zen Restorative classes also include a bit of Reiki, and a lavender cotton pad to take with.
An amazing young woman whose praises I sang to a stranger at a festival a year ago. Approached because she was urious about yoga style and the conversation turned to belly dance. We bonded learning we were both from Michigan, and had studied with the same legendary belly dance teacher. Turns out this lady also was Nadia’s mother in law.
The circle of life will bring you places that make you know Spirit, the universe, the god of your under/overstanding is always in the midst. It’s humbling really.
On the way home two cabs passed. Couldn’t hear me with my face mask on (Cairo pollution is real). Same tone but the 3rd driver heard me and stopped.
As we drove his phone chirped. I caught words in his conversation I actually know (yay Arabic) but most I didn’t. His call ended and his garbled speech broke my silent shout out to me for remembering my Arabi.
“My fazzer is dead. My fazzer…” He began to weep. I didn’t know what to do. I apologized for his loss. I said he I bet he was proud to have raised such a strong son. I offered to find another ride so he could go to be with family. He said, “no Nasr City” which I knew meant he would pass my flat to go there.
He worried about his family. Money for the hospital. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but had no clean tissue for his tears. Put away my 20 pound note, took out 100 and a 5 USD. Wrapped it in that lavender cotton and held it tight with my free right hand. We rode pretty much in silence the rest of the way with him wiping tears and me keeping a steady warm hand, like Nadia does.
At the end of the ride I apologized for not being able to help more. Told him I would pray for his family. Handed him the bills with the cotton. The evening breeze filled his cab with a beautiful, calming scent. He kissed my hand and thanked me without looking at the money or noticing the cotton.
I came in my flat and prayed. And cried. And gave thanks. Kushuhadia…the witness, the charge and honor of being there for another.
I guess I wanted to share bc as I’ve aged I write less and speak more. I tell people more of how they move me, and less of how they anger me. I smile easily and hope to be contagious in my source of serenity.
Idk if that little money will do a damn thing. But I do know there are good people on the planet. Good people who get knocked down by life, big time and sometimes we are chosen to bear witness.
May your clarity and strength show up for them. May your gentleness of Spirit transcend the right words or common language. May you not know too soon how to be a parentless child. And never forget that Divine Love will surround you, regardless.
To be a vessel, chipped and imperfect but still here. Gr8ful to do something kind and good. And hope the small snatches of life and coincidence find you ready to be the Light in someone else’s absence of Light.
Now and always.
Aché. Amen. Amin. Aché