It is just after midnight, May 22, on Kiritimati Island. The earth is quiet and still, but above, there is a low rumbling in the clouds, a frenzied stir that can be heard just beyond the pearly gates. “Damnation! I just spilled wine on my robe. Now where did I put that other sandal? Hell’s fire, I am six hours late. Can’t this camel go any faster? And how do you program ‘heaven to earth’ on his piece of crap GPS?”

Recently I began taking yoga classes for the first time since the baby era began. While everyone else focused on their inner Zen, I was contemplating what would happen if the instructor allowed five minutes to lapse without reminding us to breathe. Would she emerge from her Downward Dog and discover a room full of blue people passed out on their mats? Makes me want to become a yoga instructor just to find out.