Closing Up Shop

Today was the Shiatsu School "Yard Sale", Clean Up, and Move Out. I arrived towards the end of the yard sale, 10 minutes before its theoretical closing time, and found the gorgeous Kwan Yin art yet unsold. The three framed paintings of her were huge, for one, and $50 each, for another. I stared at them for a few moments, until my favorite emerged. It was larger than I'd realized, in the scale of the school's high ceilings. When I later loaded it into my car, with the help of a friend's husband, we finagled and wrangled and jiggered until at last it rested at an angle from the driver-side backseat to the passenger-side front seat. I prayed that she would protect me on the drive home, given that I couldn't see out the back or right side.

My fellow students were wandering around rather like ghosts, eyes red and weepy, choosing an item here and there, not quite focused. There was the strange mood of a Catholic wake in the air; we were sad, but happy to see each other, and holiday-happy, and no one was sure of the answer to "How are you?" Good, but, well...this is sad, but doing OK. Wakes are hard. At least at the funeral, everyone is just supposed to wail, none of the happy-sad-happy-sad-numb-sad-happy confusion.

After I staked out my art, I took over the front desk post, collecting a dollar or five from the yogis emerging from their class, in exchange for a candle or cushion or some such item. The yogis rent the large qi gong room, and have always been out of sync of the energy of the rest of the school. I love their OMMMMs, don't get me wrong, but they leave class like a flock of birds--always have--twittering and flitting and spacey. And talking, dear gods, the talking. The East Asian practices, if I may generalize, are more grounding than the Yogic practices. We connect with dan tien and the earth; they favor the third eye and the heavens. I practice yoga, too, but my teacher gets the grounding thing, and sometimes I direct my qi differently if it's getting too spacey in class.

So the yogis emerged, a sweet flock, but there was one particularly irritating British yogi who didn't seem to perceive the Difficult Emotional Thing Happening and just dove into the shopping without the regretful restraint we all felt. She was a retail clerk's nightmare: "If I walk these home, will you be here? Hello? Will you be here?" I had no idea she was talking to me right away. Then the, "I need a small floor heater. Are there any others?" And then the long deliberation about whether to wait for the acupuncturist using the heater to finish her session..."No, I can't wait," she decided. I think she meant no harm; she was merely out of sync with the wakeful mood. Wellll, and a little entitled.

While I was dealing with British Yogi, a futon materialized in the sale room, $20 for a thick, gorgeous futon with pale green-gold silk embroidery. I need another futon for my practice, and it was like I was handed the futon. When I added it to my purchase, everyone commented they were glad it found a good place: It was our sick teacher's personal futon, her favorite, the one she used in her own practice. I feel that I was given a sacred object, full of strong juju and powerful karma. Even our teacher's sister seemed pleased.

So then, as the sale wound down, I cleaned out the school fridge. It was unbelievable in there! My favorite findings were the smelly ones. A ginseng tonic in a glass jar, which probably smelled terrible fresh, was almost faint-inducing after the passage of indefinite time. After I dumped that jar, I had to leave the kitchen for air. Returning to the kitchen, I dumped what looked like a soda, but proved to be a "green drink"--you know, the kind with algae and chlorophyll in it--and the stench of old green drink could kill skunk cabbage, it was so foul. Then there was a sealed plastic container of what was no doubt very good carrot soup from Whole Foods, but it was so ancient that the top and bottom were perfectly convex, bulging from fermentation, CO2, and rot. I just placed it on the counter, unsure what to do...and very afraid.

I got tired around 2:30, after 2 1/2 hours, and opted out of loading the moving trucks. As I stepped out of the school to fetch my car, it was snowing--a perfect Tim Burton moment, the first real snowfall of the year, big, soft white flakes coating everything and making it gentle.