Peace

Peace isn’t a word usually associated with two energetic young boys. Cooped up inside, during a northeastern February–literally bouncing off the walls is more like it. (As evidenced by one hole in the drywall, 2 broken doorknobs, and many other more minor casualties around the house…)

inky
fly
fort
Even the 2 year old has taken to greeting me with a snarl, a growl, or a “let’s fight mama!”

knight

Flash forward to today: family yoga class, the boys and me, on three blue mats, in a warm, wood floored room, with a few other (more well behaved) families. Erase from your mind idyllic visions of me and my boys quietly and harmoniously moving through a series of centering and calming poses. There was very little listening, there was a lot of rolling on the floor, and riding mama like a horsey, and throwing a big pile of yoga blocks in the center of the room and building a tower, and other forms of mayhem.

So at the end of class, when my 6 year old raised his hand to answer the question: “what is peace?” I wasn’t prepared to hear his answer, clear and strong, and full of hope: “peace is when there’s no war, and everybody gets along.” And just like that, everything stopped. And there it was, for a fleeting moment, with him in my lap, and his brother leaning against me. Peace. It’s in there.

Om Shanti

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