At the table

One of my dearest dreams, since I was a young girl, was to be able to sit at the feet of a great teacher and learn.

I learned a lot by eavesdropping on my father and his associates. Sitting in the back seat of the car, at the table when they ate lunch, over coffee, at conventions --  those were days off from school where I learned more than I left behind.

Most of my life, even though it was rich in things I loved, has left part of me starving. I seldom feel qualified to take part in great conversations, but in truth, there have not been many around me. The business world talks of profits and money. The elementary school world talks about behavior problems and record keeping. Flower people talk about flowers. Nurses talk about body parts.

A few religious people and musicians have brought up more esoteric things once in a while, but mostly I have been that hungry little face pressed against the window looking in at things I could only dream of.

Now I have been invited in and I sit at the feet of the Masters listening to them talk and laugh and discuss things I often must look up to understand.

And it is heaven.