by Ellie Hall
“Dreaming about our teacher?” Birdie asked flirtatiously.
“Not exactly,” Kora drew out. “I think he’ll choose you. How could he not? You’re beautiful.”
Birdie huffed. “Thanks, but the last few assistants he’s chosen weren’t what you’d call beauties, so I’m not sure if I’d take him choosing me as a compliment, even though I really, really want him to choose me. And he barely spoke more than a few words to them. Although,” she said with an amorous sigh, resting her chin in her palm, “he did touch them.”
Kora’s eyes grew wide with astonishment and slight trepidation.
Birdie’s neck flushed. “Not like that,” she said, fanning her face with her hand. “He helped them into the correct yoga position by pushing down on their back or lifting their arm. It wasn’t a lot of contact, but it sure makes me want to be up on that hard stage with his hard body.” She fluttered her fingers over her heart. “I’ll tell you what, if he chooses me, I’m gonna grab that hand of his and place it where it’ll be sure to make him blush.”
“Birdie!” Kora exclaimed, glancing across the picnic table at the “quiet” women and hushed her voice. “You’re naughty.”
“I wish,” said Birdie. She rubbed her palms together and jumped up. “Come on. Let’s get on up there and stake our place right near the front where he’ll be forced to make eye contact with us. This is the session where he picks his yogini.”
“I’ll have my fingers crossed for you, Birdie,” Kora said, giving her new friend a hug.
Birdie hugged Kora back for a few extra seconds. “Thanks. That’s the last hug we’ll get for the week, or conversation for that matter. Once we step out of this pavilion, we’re forbidden from speaking. It’s been a pleasure talkin’ to ya, Kora. We’ll chat on the other side.”
“The other side.” Kora agreed with a sigh, unsure how she could go a full nine days without whispering a word to anyone.
Once all the women were assembled on their mats, the “hot” instructor took his place on his wooden platform. Kora avoided looking at him, or any eye contact in an effort to avoid being picked as his helper for the week.
“Welcome back,” he said in a deep, thoughtful voice. “Please raise your eyes and watch as I show you our next pose.”
With reluctance, Kora looked up at him. He caught her eye and held her gaze, looking at her with almost an expression of anger. She looked away, unsure how anyone could think him handsome. Cocky and unpleasant is how she would describe him to anyone who would listen, which was no one, since they were sworn to silence. She glanced over at Birdie, who’d already gotten into some sort of dog pose. She wished she could ask her new friend why in the heck she admired their instructor.
The instructor said, “For the next few hours, we will be releasing all thought, focusing only on the air that travels in and out of our bodies. Seal away all other thought. When you find your mind starting to stray from your breath, gently bring your attention back to the ocean air as it flows in and out of your body.”
Kora closed her eyes. She inhaled through her nose, fully inflating her lungs, then held her breath in her chest. She counted to ten, then slowly released her held breath through her mouth.
“These gardens,” their instructor said, pulling Kora’s thoughts away from her breathing, “are dedicated to Charlotte Terrence.”
An uncontrolled, humorous grunt left Kora’s lips. She quickly coughed to disguise the unladylike sound. That sneaky Charlotte. She’d told Kora years ago that she owned a property, or maybe two, in Hawaii. Kora had always assumed that Charlotte had meant a timeshare or condo or the like. Charlotte owned this place but never said a word about it to Kora.
“Do you find that amusing?” the instructor asked, looking straight at Kora.
Kora pressed her pointer finger into her chest, pointing at herself. “Me?”
He nodded.
Sensing all eyes on her, Kora sat erect. “Actually, I do find it ironic that we’re in a garden, which was once a sacrificial temple, to find inner peace while talking about the garden being named after someone who’s still living.”
His brows knit together. “You think Charlotte Terrence is alive?”
She stared straight into his deep brown eyes, returning his glare. “I know it to be true. She is as alive as I am.”
Recognition crossed his face. He believed Kora. She could sense it. But that didn’t explain why he looked at her with an expression of angst. “That means…” his voice drifted off while he touched the small medallion that hung from his neck. “What’s your name?”
She lifted her chin. “Kora Nahua.”
“Kora,” he said with a spurious smile as if he’d become a puppet of himself, “will you please join me as my yogini-in-training?”
Her spirits plummeted. Birdie would be devastated that he’d chosen Kora and not her. Not to mention the instructor must think Kora an ugly duckling. She glanced next to her at Birdie for a way out, any way out. Birdie simply brushed her fingers in the air to shoo Kora toward their instructor’s wooden perch.
With heavy wings and much reluctance, Kora picked up her mat and walked the long mile, or five feet, to take her new place next to their instructor.
Once she’d laid out her mat, he leaned over and spoke to her in a hushed tone. “Everyone else calls me teacher or instructor but you can call me Noah.”
“I can speak?” she asked with enthusiasm, excited for the opportunity to converse with anyone, even if it meant the only person she could speak with would be him.
He blinked affirmatively. “When I speak to you, yes.”
The muscles in her back and neck tightened. The first day had not yet drawn to a close and she was already at her maximum level of annoyance. This was going to be an exceedingly long ten days if she had to “assist” Noah during every meditation session.
For the next two hours, she tried to ignore Noah’s constant critical eye and continual correction of her yoga positions and focus instead on perfecting her meditation practice.
“It is time for me to leave,” he finally said into her ear. “Will you please continue leading the group?”
“Huh? You want me to…when will you be back?”
“Dinner,” he said, bolting off the stage.
She looked across the garden at the women’s questioning faces. Her initial sense of freedom from Noah walking away from her instantly converted into heightened stress. She didn’t know how to be a yoga instructor. Birdie gave her an encouraging smile.
After a few minutes of the other participants staring at her expectantly, she finally said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to internalize the instruction we’ve been given today. I’m ready to allow my mind to be free, free from trying to become what someone else wants me to be and hoping he’ll notice me,” she said, pointing to Noah’s yoga mat, which caused the women to laugh softly. Palpable tension released into the air and blew away in the salty wind. “Free to soar like the birds above our heads when they fly freely in the ocean breeze.” She extended up her arm, reaching high up to the sky with an open palm, then motioned to all of them. “Please get into whatever position you feel most comfortable so that your mind and body can be one in purpose and thought. For the next hour, you will be in charge of your own meditation. The only person here who can tell you how to commune with yourself and your deity is yourself.” She stepped down from the platform and joined Birdie on the soft grass.
“You killed it,” said Birdie, closing her eyes.
“Thank you.”
The next hour was one of self-reflection and peace, something Kora hadn’t taken the time for in…maybe forever. At the conclusion of her meditation, she posed a few questions to God. Where do I go from here? What should be my focus of study? The Cora Indians? Ancient Greek customs and sea exploration? Who am I?
The answer came immediate and clear. You are my child. Seek Me. Her heart grew in love and her chest burned with gratitude. And I don’t care. Kora burst into lau
ghter from a sense of—she tried to pinpoint her feelings—relief. Was it possible that God really didn’t care what she chose?
“Hey, Birdie,” she whispered to get Birdie’s attention. Luckily, the ocean waves and bird calls muffled her voice. No one around them seemed to become disturbed by her speaking.
Birdie sat up from her child’s pose position and met her gaze.
Kora swallowed back her fear that she might offend her new friend. “I hate to stereotype, but I have a Biblical question.”
Birdie nodded, letting her know to ask away.
Kora bit at her bottom lip. “Does God ever tell people that he doesn’t care?”
The women around them rustled as they started to roll up their yoga mats. Birdie’s face dropped into an expression of worry and sadness.
“He always cares,” said Birdie with a look of distress.
Kora twisted her lips. “I mean, has He ever told anyone in the Bible that He would stand behind their choices.”
“Oh, that’s what you mean. Sure,” Birdie said with a full-body sigh. “He’s let men choose since the beginning of time. In my youth Bible class, my preacher told us about a story in Genesis where Abram is promised fertile land. He has a huge household and so does his nephew Lot. Their servants start to bicker about sharing the land, so Abram takes Lot up to a high place, like this one,” she said, waving her hand around at the view of the lush rolling hills below and around them. “He tells Lot that they’re family and shouldn’t be fighting. Knowing good and well he was the one promised the land, Abram told his nephew that he could choose. His nephew could go live to the east or the west and Abram’s family would take the other side. Abram knew that God had a plan for him to prosper and would lead him wherever he needed to go. God allowed Abram to give away his land to make peace. The important thing was that Abram built an alter to God wherever he went. That’s what God cares about.”
“Seek Me,” Kora said to herself, repeating, with a sense of wonderment, the impression she’d received earlier. “I’m still learning the Bible. My tribe aren’t Christians. Christianity was introduced to me when I met…well when I was twelve.”
“Your tribe?” asked Birdie with a raised a brow. “Where are your parents from?”
“A small coastal village in Mexico. They went back home to visit family when I was eight and got caught in a landslide. I guess their home is with God now,” she said, staring up at the blue sky. “Finding Christianity has brought me hope that I’ll see them again. Brought me truth and light, as our instructor would say.”
Birdie pulled Kora into a hug. “Forbidden or not, you’re getting a hug.” A gong sounded, signaling a change of activity. “Dinner,” said Birdie with a little hop. “I’m sorry, but we can’t talk anymore. Otherwise, we’ll get kicked out.”
If Charlotte did own this place, as Kora suspected, and rented it to the yoga studio, there was a good chance she wouldn’t get kicked out for whispering, but that didn’t mean Birdie wouldn’t. “Other side, then? I promise not to bug you anymore. Thanks, Birdie. You’re a beautiful person.”
“I know. Our instructor didn’t pick me,” she said with a teasing wink as they pulled their yoga mats under their arms and started their trek down to the pavilion. “And man, can he dance.”
Ugly or not, a newfound peace settled over Kora.
Note to self: thank Charlotte for sending me to paradise to find myself…and God again.
5
I’d like to live as a poor man with lots of money.
~ Pablo Picasso
Dusk began to settle on the horizon in the form of golden smoky haze. The evening breeze played at Noah’s neck as he tossed his poi stick in the air to warm up for his performance. He shook out his arms before catching it.
“I will conquer this,” he said aloud to himself.
Ano purposefully bumped into him, then laughed when Noah dropped his stick. “Stop thinking and just do it. You’re the best fire dancer I know,” said Ano, positioning his drums in a half circle. “I haven’t seen you this nervous to dance at a luau since we were eighteen. Who’s in the audience tonight? I’ll make her speechless,” he said with a waggle of his brows. That “meditation retreat” pick-up line never got old for Ano.
“Things have changed since then,” he reminded Ano as the women started to filter down from the pavilion to the outdoor amphitheater, which wasn’t much more than a sloped piece of grass with a concrete slab at the bottom for a stage with an ocean view behind.
“Changed?” Ano said with a high pitched, amused grunt. “You’re forgetting that I’m still fat, and you’re still poor.”
“Not for much longer,” Noah said in a whisper, stepping in close to his friend. “I found another coin.”
Ano tilted his head back, looked at him askance, and jutted out his bottom lip, letting Noah know he didn’t believe him. He punched Noah’s upper arm. “Show me.”
“I can’t,” Noah said, glancing at his lodging, which was basically a single room apartment the size of a normal bathroom. “It’s locked inside my room.”
Ano sat at his drums and cracked his knuckles. “You don’t have to impress me bro, I like you poor.”
Noah set his poi stick down on the ground, kneeled into one knee to adjust the leaf sleeves on his wrists and ankles. “And if you were an artist, what type of guy would you like? An artsy kinda guy?”
“Oh,” Ano said with a huge grin. “She’s an artist.” He looked out at the audience of women as they laid out their blankets and sat. “Which one is she?”
The black-haired beauty with huge emerald eyes who Noah hadn’t been able to get out of his head all day. And she had a secret. She knew something about Charlotte Terrence. The gardener had been unusually talkative one cold rainy day last year and told Noah that the landowner, Ms. Charlotte Terrence, had spent years searching the area for Spanish gold. He’d said that he’d assured Ms. Terrence time and time again that no Spaniards had ever stepped foot on his family’s sacred ground. Eventually, she abandoned her search. Noah later heard that she’d passed away. Somehow there was a link between Charlotte Terrence and Kora. He needed to understand their connection.
He’d left the second yoga session early to see what he could uncover about Kora. Fortuitously, Kora’s bio from the meditation retreat registration sat on the desk in the main office, but the only information he garnered from it was that she’s an artist from California. The irony never ceased; she’s a real artist; something he pretended to be every day. When Kora took over his yoga session, she led the class into a level of deep meditation he could only dream of. After having left her side, instead of disappearing immediately, he’d walked behind his pomegranate tree and listened for a few minutes. Her words repeated in his mind. “I’m ready to allow my mind to be free, free from trying to become what someone else wants me to be and hoping he’ll notice me.” Without telling him directly, Kora had told Noah in that sentence that she yearned for him—she’d told the entire group of women—then went on to lead a mindful yoga session that the participants soulfully embraced.
The master had become the student and the student the master, on day one.
Noah looked up into the crowd and searched the women’s faces until he located Kora. Their eyes locked until she looked away. It bothered him that she didn’t smile at him like the other women did. There had to be a way to get her attention. He told himself that the only reason to seduce her would be to prevent her, or anyone else, from finding his treasure. It had nothing to do with the fact that his heart skipped a beat every time she looked at him. “She’s the pretty one,” he said to Ano.
Ano’s body jiggled with rumbling laughter. “I’m looking at an audience full of beautiful women.” He poked Noah in the side with his drumstick. “Introduce me to her.”
Noah slapped the drumstick away. “No,” he said in a flat voice.
“Why not?” Ano asked, pounding his drums, which signaled the start of the show. “You’ve sworn off women for no reas
on at all. You can at least share one hottie with me.”
He faced Ano. “I don’t share women.”
“Well, let’s hope that you’re less stingy with your gold,” he said, pointing at Noah with his drumstick, letting the audience know that the concert was about to begin.
Where there would normally be clapping and yelling to kick off a fire dance, silence ensued. Tough crowd. The women looked to one another to gauge each other’s reactions to see if they should clap or not. Apparently, the consensus was no. Performing at a silent meditation retreat wasn’t your typical high-energy luau.
“Aloha!” Noah shouted, thrusting his long poi stick in the air and holding it above his head. “I’m happy to share with you tonight a piece of my culture. Poi spinning has been around for thousands of years. It began as a Maori war dance in New Zealand. Women and men fought side by side utilizing their poi slings.” He squatted into his thighs, swung his stick around, tossed it in the air, then caught it behind his back.
Again, no response from the ladies.
“As time passed and wars became less frequent, the art of poi adopted into a form of dance,” he said as he continued to toss the poi stick around. “The poi fire dance was also performed during the growing season, petitioning the Gods to make the land fertile and the harvest abundant.” He tossed his poi stick to Max, the other yoga instructor who helped him out during his shows. He picked up his box of pomegranates. “To celebrate harvest tonight, you’ll receive the first fruits from the pomegranate tree I planted in our meditation garden.” He needed to get a message to Kora, and this was the only way he could think to do it. He didn’t normally hand out fruit at the beginning of his dance. “Please pass this box around and take one,” he said, handing the box to the first person on the far corner of the first row. He then walked amongst the women until he came up to Kora. “And to thank our newest yogini instructor-in-training,” he said, cracking open the pomegranate on his knee and pulling it apart, “she will taste the first bite.”