I arrived to my yoga class a little bit early this morning. I wasn't sure where it was exactly and I feel that it's always better to be early than late, especially when you are the teacher. While waiting for the morning shift person to come and open up, I was hanging outside the space minding my own. Two people came up and sat on the steps next door to the yoga space. They started talking to me, and so I responded back. Nothing big, small talk. The guy got up and came closer to me. Oh, maybe I should tell you all this. The yoga space is in the Tenderloin of SF. The seediest, dirtiest, drug filled portion of SF. So the guy got up and asked to bump my fist. I told him I'd rather a handshake than fist bump. I don't love the fist bump and feel a handshake is more meaningful. He let me know he was offering the bump for hygienics, you see he was homeless and not so cleanly. It didn't bother me, he was still a person and if he was dirty then I'd wash my hands later. I'm clearly no germ freak(read some of my posts in China and you'll see). When he sat back down, he lit something up. I wasn't sure if he was smoking an old cigarette, a joint, or something else. So I asked, "What is that? pot or rock?" It was rock, they were smoking crack right in the open, and next to the yoga space. OH NO!!! We'll shit, these things happen. Especially in the Tenderloin. They talked to me some more and I saw this as a great place to practice non-judgement. For those who know me, I can be a little judgmental. It's something I've been working on for a while, on how to soften and not judge. But I'm an East Coast Jew, it's in my blood. Anyways, back to the story. I decided to have compassion for them and not judge. When he offered me some, I told him that "I'm clean. But thanks." I don't think what he does or how he lives is the right way. Selling drugs is what he seems to have to do right now, his dharma. Instead of ignoring him or acting rude, I gave him my time and I spoke from a place of heart. OK, there was a part of me that thought I may get mugged, but I tried to suppress these feelings with those of knowing that all will be ok. Because, it really always is all OK. Isn't it? He is high in crack, I'm high on life. High from yoga. What's the difference? OK, maybe there is a huge difference, but we all have our roles to play, our samskaras to break. After a few hits from his pipe, he started to get paranoid from not seeing any police and thought they may be coming so they got up to leave. He offered to sell me some powder, again, and again I politefully declined stating, "I'm clean, but thanks." He told me his name was Carl, but around here they call him Slim. Then they took off to somewhere else. Shortly after, the lady who was to open the studio arrived and I went inside to prepare for class. Two types of highs, one natural one synthetic. But people none the same.