Namaste

Passing time in Southern Oregon at a hot springs yoga retreat.  Hippies all around. Bumper stickers read: There's No Place Like Om, Arms are for Hugging, and Support Your Local Midwife, Make Love.  Bathing together in the hot springs, the hippies don't know what to make of me.  Am I one of them?  No one speaks.  An older woman with dreads and tattoos on her face begins to hum.  The hum continues for five...eight...ten minutes without a break in tone.  It's amazing. Impossible even.  The other snow monkeys don't seem impressed.  A mosquito buzzes around my face like it's a Coast Guard helicopter, searching for a dry place to land - I snatch it from mid-air like a Tibetan Monk.