by Ron Hickerson
Trying to limber my body stiffened from neglected Practices, I turn on my phone and open my yoga App - trying not to get distracted in the process. Too
Many times, I’ve opened my phone only to get lost In a sea of memes when I had a legitimate task. I move through my poses, breathing into my joints, letting Suppleness seep into my muscles. Shavasana comes. I try to lie as still as a corpse on my bedroom floor, Feeling the carpet fibers poking the skin of my legs. I look up to the wall on my left, seeing an icon, Painted by a Ukrainian, depicting the holy Family escaping to Egypt - sacred refugees. Their poses prompt my wife to say, “They’re taking a selfie!” Joseph walks beside Mary and Baby Jesus riding A donkey. He holds a shining flower in his hand - a Symbol of the Holy Spirit. The three huddle around The presence - comfort for the journey. They make me think of Those seeking aid among neighbors and strangers running from A would-be king gripped with the fear of losing his power. It’s always power that inflicts pain and incites bolting. Refugees flee for dearth of power, but, strangely, wealth of Power can drive some to seek higher ground. When Constantine Made Rome great again by co-opting the faith fulfilled by A refugee toddler, his faith was trusting in Empire. He shackled all to that stiff-jointed faith upon threat of Death. So Mothers and Fathers - to save faith, saints, and seekers - Fled again to Egypt to find the Refugee in their Silence and found refuge in the silence he gave in turn
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