When I first saw the rug, it seemed way too expensive to make sense. The Center was thriving in its Essences of Connection, Beauty, Community, and Joy - but certainly not in its bank account.
The Voice reminded me right away that buying the colorful, handwoven, organically round rug was unreasonable. It whispered in my ear: "Shouldn't you wait until this Center of yours makes a profit?" But reasonable was never the driving force of the Center for Happiness. And my goodness, this rug.
I bought it.
The day it arrived I made its home on the floor, at the foot of the big, soft red couch - which eventually became The Couch - and marveled at its perfection.
In fact, it was perfectly imperfect.
Made by hands in India, its many many threads spoke to me of our many many hearts. It spoke to me of the tiny moments of our lives and of how, when woven together, they shine and comfort and hold us, strong and colorful. Always there.
Very soon, it became The Rug.
Over the almost ten years that it lived in the BaIlroom, I cannot count the number of hours that were spent on or around The Rug meditating, learning, sharing, laughing, crying, creating, reading Gratitude notes.
When we walked out of the Center one last time, in August 2020, I moved The Rug to my home and placed it next to my bed.
As I was deciding what was so Deeply Cherished that it would make the trip to Mexico this last summer, The Rug showed up at the top of my list.
Along with The Voice having some opinions:
"But it's so heavy!"
"But it's so big!"
"But it's so worn out!"
All these were true. As well as knowing that I could find another colorful rug down here.
But not The Rug.
A few weeks ago, The Knowing having become stronger than The Doubting, I folded the glorious piece of yumminess into a bag, then gently placed it in a box, talking to it as to an old friend. I would see it on the other side and we would write yet another chapter together.
A couple of days ago, in a house that is not quite finished, in a house which also makes little sense, I pulled The Rug out of the box. And there it was. Full of stories, infused with so much depth, so much life. Two worlds suddenly holding hands and so many people I love now here with me. Next came the brightly colored quilt which also did not make sense to bring. And the tiny door handles. And a few cards.
Little by little, the house becomes a home.
I opened my email early today, which is very rare for me. In fact, I don't always open my email daily. But this morning, I did.
And there, as the roosters started to sing while the sky is still dark, I read the words of a friend telling me how, last Spring, she had seen one of The Rug's cousins online and had decided to get a few people together and surprise me by shipping it to me. More weave, more love. She knew how sweet it would feel for me to receive it and she took the time to try and make this happen.
Then she writes: "But then no one knew your address. The order got delayed. I couldn’t get a single customer service person to assure me it would arrive at the surrogate address Maryn was able to acquire. When the order finally went through, the shipping was five times the cost of the rug! Not the essence of ease and connection, but still the Love. Now I know why it didn’t flow. The actual rug -infused with the Love - is five times, no - five hundred times better than a replica would have been!"
Wow. More threads. More love. The Rug becomes even more infused.
I am in awe. And I am in love.
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