I won’t let you go…

I just read Rabindranath Tagore’s poem I Won’t Let You Go (Jete Nahi Dibo, translated from the Bangla by Fakrul Alam).

It is our perennial anthem. Our longing to grasp, to hold fast to – all that is dear, all that is ours. And this in the face of a world of leavings, of things torn away, of hearts torn apart. In the face of the unraveling of every minutely, carefully worked weaving. A conclusion denied but inevitable.

Still we stand in the face of the inevitable.

And still we cry, I won’t let you go!

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Mourning after the mass shooting in Boulder, Colorado.

yogāyoga

Mid to late afternoon, after tea, after reading Tagore. I lie down on the couch and curl up like a comma. Not to sleep, but to go quietly inside and think things through.

Today, I am considering the collision of world-views.

A few blog posts back I considered this distance that separates in the air you breathe: the inevitability of the separation that results from being coiled into our cultural cocoons.

The divide is fractal, existing not only on the macro level of culture, but on the micro level of any two individuals. We are all blind, in varying degrees, to the ground upon which we stand. We look out into the world, thinking that we see objectively. But the really real is veiled by the innumerable beliefs we hold about it.

What to do, then? Just give up and sink into the false conviction that only my world-view is real?

It occurs to me that attempting to bridge the gap is why we’re here. Here, now, in apparent isolation from everything else. Our attempts to find connection may often be clumsy and miss the mark. But we can’t give up the project.

This conundrum reminds me of the title of one of Tagore’s novels: Yogayog. That is, yoga + ayoga. Yoga – connection, and its opposite – ayoga – separation. The former is the ultimate reality that underlies everything. The latter is the relative reality in which we spend most of our time.

May we support each other in the attempt to bridge the gap and find connection. The survival of everything depends upon this.

grace and transformation

Our life, like a river, strikes its banks not to find itself closed in by them, but to realize anew every moment that it has its unending opening towards the sea. It is as a poem that strikes its meter at every step not to be silenced by its rigid regulations, but to give expression every moment to the inner freedom of its harmony. – Rabindranath Tagore: The Problem of Self from Sadhana.

Or perhaps life is like the highly codified art form of Bharatanatyam.

One must first learn the rules of this intricate dance idiom in order that the Divine might find expression through it. The latter cannot happen through force or calculation, but only and ever through Grace.

When it does come together, Divinity dances among us and we are utterly transformed.

I experience this in Supratim Talukdar’s expression of Arekar’s choreography Ardhanarīshvara

thoughts on the eve of mahaśivarātri

Diversity is of many kinds – in a family of ten, there are ten different kinds of diversity. -Rabindranath Tagore*

This observation, penned by Tagore in 1895, expresses a perennial truth. Why then do we insist on separating life into polarities? Are you black or white? Gay or straight? Liberal or conservative? Religious or non-religious?

Daring to look at the astounding abundance of diversity in the natural world, it becomes evident that nothing could be further from the truth. There is only and ever a continuously evolving flow of expression. An infinity of dancing points of light.

Let’s embrace the image of the tāndava dance of Śiva Natarāja encompassing everything and every place and all time. The swirling ecstasy that has no opposite.

Wishing you all an auspicious Mahaśivarātri!

*from Raja O Proja , 1895, translated by Debjani Sengupta

Can I chant Shiva Tandava Stotram inside my house? - Quora

namaskaram…

Today, as my online Bharatanatyam class was finishing up, the next student, a little girl from Dubai, Zoomed in. My teacher (Kolkata, India), myself (Ottawa, Canada), and little Adhanu (Dubai, United Arab Emirates) were all on the screen together. I doubt that Adhanu speaks much English, but she certainly understood me waving hello – and responded enthusiastically. My teacher then requested that I perform Namaskaram to end my class, and Adhanu leapt up to perform Namaskaram to start her class.

So she and I danced together, touching the earth with our fingertips and bringing Earth’s blessing up to our eyes, then saluting God, the Guru, and each other.

The pure magic of connection!

Salutation/ Pranam - My Site

the air you breathe

starving for air

I gasp

craving connection

(Tagore’s intimate whisper, Ramakrishna’s bliss, a temple dancer caught in stone, your own swirl of ecstatic expression…)

I’ll never be able to occupy

the ground upon which you dance

but am impelled to try and catch

a lungful

of the air you breathe

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Bharatanatyam dancer Supratim Talukdar.

joy

Today the sun shines. The banks of snow begin to warm and sink into the still hidden earth. Spring is not yet here, but its song is whispered. Our winter souls recognize the melody and start to thaw…

Joy erupts…

Today I had bharatanatyam class #19 with Supratim Talukder. In spite of his observation that my attempt at Natta Adavus #8 was woefully lacking, I feel flooded by an irrepressible optimism. Guided by his observations, I will improve. And he introduced me to some rhythmic footwork in the Pancha Nadai. I love playing with rhythm. My father was an amateur percussionist, and I carry on his love of rhythm. I’m SO excited to explore this new footwork! Beating out rhythms with my feet…

The rhythm of the changing season fills my soul. Time to get out for a walk – to taste the promise that fills the air.

Joy!

Photo credit: Sophie Chargé