The yoga Techer
Some doors are meant to be opened
Others seem perfectly content keeping their secrets.
This weathered cedar door belonged to the latter.
Layer upon layer
of
faded turquoise and blue
had become a painting in themselves,
patiently created by
sun,
sand,
rain and
time.
Above the knocker hung a small sign.
A woman,
seated in lotus pose.
Underneath it,
just two words:
Yoga Techer.
I was actually on my way to a nearby restaurant.
Someone had told me they might be offering pottery classes.
But
suddenly
that no longer seemed important.
My curiosity had found a new destination.
a techer,
without wanting it, the word had me in its grip.
The more I looked at the sign,
the more possibilities my imagination invented.
Our minds are wonderfully creative
when faced
with the unknown.
Mine was no different.
One missing letter
was becoming a mystery,
a story,
a question rather than an answer.
Perhaps
a techer was someone who collected beautiful old doors.
Or
quietly welcomed wandering strangers inside for mint tea.
Perhaps
there were no yoga classes at all.
My hand moved towards the iron knocker.
Only then did I notice
how wonderfully small it was.
Completely out of proportion with the grand cedar door.
There was no chance
anyone behind it would hear me.
And then it occurred to me.
Of course!
A yoga techer would probably appreciate silence.
And perhaps…
Some mysteries are more enjoyable before they are solved.
I never did knock.
Some doors are more inviting when they remain unopened.
They leave us with something far more valuable than an answer.
another story to imagine.
I continued my walk towards the restaurant.
But every now and then, I still wonder what a yoga techer might be,
As someone who still knows how to wonder.
La Flâneuze.