One morning in April 1987, I awoke to a magnificent Southern California spring day. The weather was perfect—72 degrees—not too hot and not too cold, just sunny and glorious. Outside my window, laurel sumac leaves danced freely in a breeze, and their scent, like green apples laced with turpentine, wafted through my open window.

My inner voice whispered, “It’s such a beautiful day, Kitten. Why don’t you get outdoors? You just have to…”

Outside, a heavenly array of yellow brittlebush flowers swayed like daisies in fancy gowns, and kalanchoe glowing red beneath the broad leaves of a fig, all gorgeous, sturdy, and standing tall, reaching toward the sun, just like me.

I rolled over and lifted the receiver of my phone. A moment later, a sleepy voice answered, a new acquaintance from the Beverly Hills YMCA, where I taught fitness and dance.

I said, “Hey Julie, how would you like to come over and do some yoga with me?”

In her alto, Julie answered with a swift, “Yes! I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. All right?”

“See you then.”

I pulled on my favorite unitard—bluish violet, made like a strappy leotard with built-in shorts—and got to my door, purple yoga mat tucked under my arm, just as Julie knocked. Opening the door, I looked up into her smiling face and admired her long, sandy blonde pony tail. Even in a baggy gray sweatshirt and leggings, she had style.

As we walked down the wooden steps into my garden, she said, “This is beautiful. I love all the plants.”

“Yes,” I said, as we unrolled our mats on the lawn. “Nature always makes me feel whole.”

In silence, we sat cross-legged, facing each other, breathing slowly and deeply. Julie knew yoga, so there was no need for me to teach her. After a few minutes, we each laid down, and I turned my attention inward, inviting myself to relax, closing my eyes and visualizing the birds singing all around me. I practiced my breathing technique until I became one with nature.

Slowing down helped me distinguish our feelings and see them clearly, in many ways. My viewpoint changed. Being still and quiet helped me and my frame-of-mind.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Julie was having the same experience.

The flowers, the trees, they all aligned and attuned me. They filled my spirit. Nature had a way of grounding me. It rejuvenated the parts of me that made me anxious. It helped center and quiet my soul, so I could hear what it was saying, good or bad. Something about the environment filled me with love, joy, light, peace, and understanding, and the vibrant colors of the plants—the yellows, purples, reds, greens, and blues gave me the desire, energy, and strength to follow this path in life. I wanted to live with and in this kind of presence.

Sitting silently, I closed my eyes again, but the air on my body changed, grew cooler, almost cold. I couldn’t help but look around. Above, the sky had a sheen, and the light had turned dreary, nothing like the cheery morning. Deep hues of gray darkened the sky into an eerie, almost scary ceiling above our heads.

For a moment, I wondered, why? Then I smiled to myself and observed Julie’s stillness. With her eyes closed and a half smile on her lips, she looked like a Buddha. Gently, so I would not startle her, I gently tapped Julie’s hand, and she opened her eyes.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“The weather is getting very gloomy,” I said, emphasizing the word gloomy. “I guess the universe has its reasons for stopping our yoga session. Who am I to question the universe?”

That’s  when I accepted It, and completely understood. Julie did, too, even though the weather changed on us.

I said, “I hope you enjoyed yourself, my friend.”

“I sure did Karen, We ought to do this again.”

We both not only enjoyed the moments together but also earth’s beauty and pleasures, however briefly they lasted. Through this experience, I learned to live in the present moment, being grateful, and making new friends.

I wrote this poem because I became aware that I wanted to move forward with my life spiritually. I wanted my life to flow and expand. I really did. I had so much hurt and pain that I was ready to let go even more. I was ready to alter and transform myself. It was time. I was ready to make further changes towards mental and emotional health. They call that self-care today. I wanted to take control of my feelings and to learn how to stay neutral. I didn’t want to react badly as the result of being kind hearted and taking on other people’s feelings. Not that I did not still sometimes do that, but I was going to take more action to set healthier boundaries by being more thoughtful.

I worked on myself. I developed a moment-by-moment awareness of my thoughts, my feelings, my body’s sensations, and my environment, seeing them all through a more nurturing lens. I attracted people who were like-minded. I didn’t struggle as much. I was more at ease. A comfort within came. I learned to deal with every situation with less effort. Yoga freed me, calmed me, and helped release and heal my being. Being around like-minded people, such as Julie, made a vast difference, too.

Precious Moments

It was a bright
Sunny day

The sky
Dimmed ever so slowly
Into very deep shades,

And though the smokey sky
Filled the sphere,
We smiled anyway,
Laughing like
Light hearted children
At play

But then time came,
And snatched our
Happy hours away

Our day,
Turned into a
Few moments
That remained

Forever sweetly reframed.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Original text ©2024 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved. Image by Stan Shebs courtesy of Creative Commons.