Yesterday I was in a yoga nidra class. Not a life first for me, but a first in a long time as I haven’t gone to any in person yoga classes in years. As part of the class, the teacher led us through a guided meditation at a beach, where the waves were rolling in and out. 

As I sat there at the beach in my mind, my Dad popped into my vision, standing in front of me, looking out at the ocean: something he could do for hours. He didn’t “meditate” but he had a lot of meditative practices. 

While the teacher was coaxing me to let fear and tension roll out with the waves, and strength and healing roll in with the waves, the Dad in my vision turned around, smiled, and did what I can only describe as a geriatric hula. 

This wasn’t a memory I had of him. But in life, it was nearly impossible for him to keep from being silly. He couldn’t just smile in a photo  – he always mugged for the camera. He loved to catch your eye across the room and make a silly face. And he could always make me laugh. 

Everyone in the class was lying in silence on the floor, so I held my laughter in, and because my body needed to let it out somehow, the laugh turned into tears that just silently fell on my mat. 

It was so sweet to have him there with me for a moment, showing me some of that light and laughter he always carried – both as a balm against pain, and a weapon against anxiety. It’s great to believe that he’s hanging out at that beach in my mind, just enjoying the view. 

At the end of the class, I was reluctant to leave the beach, but rolled over and opened my eyes as instructed. I had things to do, after all. Then the teacher read some quotes, including this one from anonymous: “When was the last time you did something for the first time?”

It may not have been my first meditation, or my first yoga class, but it was definitely the first time I brought my Dad with me. And it was a recognition, by the universe, that this silly thing that I set out to do is actually worthwhile. 

I know the world feels dark and cold right now. Reading the news lately, I wonder if the magic might be gone from the world. But if I practice looking, there are so many magical threads waiting to be found. I’m wishing that we can all continue to look for and find them. And if you see someone else holding one, maybe you can weave yours together, and make something even stronger. As my mother-in-law could have told you, a quilt can’t be made in one day. Its beauty and value comes from taking many scraps and threads and piecing them together, stitch by stitch, to make something one of a kind that will keep you warm forever.