I get all hung up when I think I’m supposed to be “teaching.” I start to try to hard, and what I have to share becomes pedantic or lethargic or just plain boring, but as long as I’m simply “sharing my learnings” then magic seems more likely to happen.

That’s not to say that it always happens. The only place for me where magic consistently happens is in the moment. And that can happen anywhere. I happen to be more consistently in the moment when I’m walking the labyrinth.

This morning as I was walking, I was mentally singing a song, as I’m wont to do anytime, but very often in the labyrinth. It’s a new song from the Cold Porters rehearsal last night (the Cold Porters trio asked me to join them to sing, so when it’s the four of us, we’re the Cold Porters Combo). The song is “It’s All Right With Me.” A fun, upbeat song, but I wanted different lyrics, so I switched to Skylark (another new song for me in the Cold Porters Combo),which has lovely, poignant lyrics, but the tempo was WAYYY TOOOO SSSLLLOOOOOWWWWWWW.

And I realized, or rather remembered, that I walk in rhythm, so when I switched songs, I had to slow down and I really didn’t want to slow down, so I picked up the first tune again, took out the words and kept on going.

Does this mean something? Sure. Maybe. I don’t know. What I’m learning is that I don’t have to make up a story to get a learning. My body learns, my brain just likes to be entertained. Or maybe, and this feels more true, my body knows, and my brain likes to be entertained, so really, I’m just finding new ways to entertain my brain, while allowing myself more access to my body wisdom. Does that make sense? Do I care if it makes sense to you? If I start to care if it makes sense to you, dear reader, then sometimes I lose the actual meaning of things. Silly me. You get whatever it is you get out of these words, and my thinking that I can lead or teach or somehow guide you is fraught with peril.

I love that phrase, fraught with peril, no idea why, just love it. Just as I love how the black cat sits on the bass before we rehearse each Monday night. The bassist comes in, puts his bass down and heads to share a glass of red wine with the guitarist, and the cat heads to the bass. She sits atop it and I gaze adoringly at her. I almost wrote “gaze longingly” at her. As if I wish that I could lounge on top of the bass looking all sleek and gorgeous.

Where was I? Does it matter? Nah.