These were the words of a very sweet and inspiring young homesteader that I was privileged to meet yesterday. He was referring to growing plants, although the application of the principle is universal. When he carries composted fertilizer to his plants, he tries to so with an attitude of love. Otherwise, he said, if you feed your plants frustration-laced compost, they will take that on and you’ll end up taking that in again when you consume their fruits.
So – love in, love out!
When we arrived on his land we were offered a tour. We were shown the shelter where he and his partner currently sleep: a sturdy structure with a roof and tarps that closed it in on three sides. They will stay here until the tiny home they are constructing is ready, hopefully by Thanksgiving. There was another roofed-but-partially-open structure where food was prepared and enjoyed. Also a composting outdoor toilet. Little walking paths snake through the land where he has planted fruit trees, chestnuts, and a vegetable garden among the previously established green nations in this corner of the planet.
This young visionary embodies a deep understanding of the interdependence of all life. He plants for generations that will inhabit the land long after he has finished his earthwalk.
May his vision of reality gradually take root in our collective consciousness. Our survival depends upon it.
My husband and I have recently been transported to Victoria, BC, to spend some time with family established here. Notably, we have been able to hug our 13 month old grandson for the first time! Our first grandbaby… one of the special sweetnesses of life…!
I have fallen into a time warp of sorts here, oblivious of what day it is, or even the precise time of the day… When there is a little one, everything naturally starts to organize around his/her rhythm. It’s been a delight. After breakfast and a bit of yogāsana practice, I have been taking my grandson to a nearby park/playground. As I push his stroller to the park, I sing him two French folksongs. And sometimes he seems to hum along. I shadow him on the play structures and marvel at the things he learns to do every day. There have been some lovely, if brief, moments of connection with other grandparents grandparenting. I watch him closely for signs of fatigue so that I can offer him a snack and a ride home before he gets too strung out. On the way home he invariably falls asleep. Once home I park his stroller near the kitchen door and tuck my sweater around him. Then I brew some tea and keep an ear open for the sounds of him awakening.
It is such magic to be welcomed into our grandson’s home. My son and daughter-in-law have created something so beautiful here. Love and creativity overflow everywhere! There are apple trees, a big garden, four ducks, a stand of evergreens, fresh flower arrangements… apple crisp, spicy milky black tea… and love.
I am on the cusp of leaving home to travel. This journey will take me to finally meet my grandson in person (he’s 13 months old now) and to be reunited after 18 months with his parents, and another of my sons. Anticipation of this journey has taken me into reflecting on what it is to leave, to arrive, to leave again…
Life is a series of leave-takings. And the arrivals – are they perhaps just preparation for the next leaving? It’s a grey, rainy day today, and I wonder if my contemplation has become tainted with a sentimental melancholy. But there is an undeniable truth here. In my sitting practice this morning I felt the exhalation as a leaving. As I focused on it I knew it as a preparation for the moment when I will leave this body.
Maybe all our living, all our breathing, all our journeying is a preparation for that leave-taking.
In my mind, this is not at all a morbid contemplation. It’s a reality check. A revisiting of the notion that – as Hamlet says – the readiness is all. No growth ever happens without this shedding of the old and a stepping into the new.
Lord Śiva holds the damaru in his right hand, creating the pulsating beat that brings everything into being. Simultaneously, his left hand holds agni, the fire of destruction and dissolution. Since the hands are the motor organs of the heart, this is where creation and destruction have their source.
May all your journeys be blessed. May we all come to rest in the dynamic stillness at the heart of the whirling tāndava dance of life.
Today’s Bharatnatyam class with Supratimji tapped into the mystery of embodiment.
It started innocently enough, with me showing him a step we had worked on previously. He wasn’t satisfied. He gave me cue after cue in an attempt to get me to truly inhabit the movement.
He had me sit down and find an internal focus. Once I felt established in that, I was to initiate the arm and eye movements. I slowly began to move. I experienced the feeling that it was the surrounding space that lifted my arm. Not me, moving, but just movement. The sweep of the arm, the drishti or gaze: no longer just graceful movements that I was doing. The dancer, and the dance coalescing…
After this he had me move on to explore the asamyukta hasta mudras – the single hand gestures – from this same consciousness.
Supratim: When you take the hand position of, for example, triśula – you must feel the energy coursing through the three raised fingers. If you do not, then it’s not right. When the energy finds its path, the gesture will be right. You must feel this.
The application of this is all-encompassing. Yogāsana, Bharatanatyam, holding my grandson – it touches everything in this ecstatically beautiful, embodied existence. W.B.Yeats’ final question sums it up:
Today I went with some friends to Beyond Van Gogh: An Immersive Experience. It was amazing! Flowers from his paintings flying around the walls of the room. Famous Van Gogh canvases being sketched, painted, and dissolving on the walls, on the floor… I was inside his art and wanted to run and twirl (I held myself back but did manage some sweeping arm gestures, as I walked around and around the room, drinking it in).
After we exited from the experience I walked with one friend back to her home where she served tea and treats. We sipped our tea on her patio. I watched birds alight on her new bird bath, dipping their beaks in for refreshment. The resident backyard bunny was enjoying a meal of clover. A wasp wandered over to see if it could share any of our treats.
And it struck me forcibly: LIFE IS THE ULTIMATE IMMERSIVE EXPERIENCE.
Van Gogh was profoundly immersed in life. He took his experience and found colour, shape, and texture to share his bliss. And here, in our time, his experience, expressed on his canvases, was projected onto the walls of the room taking me into an immersive experience. It in turn pushed me into seeing the actual flow of life surrounding me as the ultimate immersive experience.
Talk about circularity!
Back home, I found a dharma talk in my inbox from Richard Rohr . The following lines summed up the experience I was attempting to integrate:
Beholding happens when we stop trying to “hold” and allow ourselves to “be held” … We are completely enchanted by something outside and beyond ourselves. (Richard Rohr)
The Infinite Love that holds everything in being: it as intimate as the breath you are taking right now.
For the last week the heat and humidity have been building. The earth… so dry. And then today the clouds rolled in and Rudra let loose with a torrential downpour. Thunder. Sheets of rain. I looked at my husband and said – I want to go outside and dance in it. We looked at each other. Conspiratorially he said – I’ll record you!
So I ran outside and entered the downpour. Stood in the pelting rain reaching my arms skyward. Drank it in. Like the earth, the plants. Swayed. Stamped my feet in the puddling water finding rhythmical patterns. Cupped my hands to catch it. Pretended I was a tree, my arms its branches. Touched the water on the ground, brought its blessing up to my eyes.
Finally, full, I came back inside.
To avoid getting chilled in the A/C I ran a hot bath. Water again – but this time contained, controlled. My usual comfort zone. As I soaked, I thought back to those moments of release – of shedding boundaries. My Bharatanatyam teacher had been urging me for a while to do something like this. Nice idea, I thought.
Perhaps when contemplating liminal space one cannot help being flooded with images and associations! After all, this is the in-between space, the space pregnant with possibility.
An image of Natarāja – the Cosmic Dancer – comes to mind.
In His upper right hand he holds the damaru, a small hand drum that symbolizes the pouring forth of creation. In his upper left hand he holds agni, the sacred fire representing dissolution. Creation and destruction. And where do these meet?
relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold
When I am bringing my students out of śavāsana, I usually ask them to curl onto their side in a foetal position, head resting on the lower arm. This brings the spine into its primary curve, just as we were when coiled into the womb space, quite literally surrounded by our mother.
I invite my students to rest in this shape for a few breaths, taking the time to just be in this in-between, liminal space, before we close our practice together and everyone moves off into their individual lives.
Lately I’ve been thinking about the nature of this space.
There is a word in Sanskrit – sandhya – that designates the space where two things meet. The place of transition, of potential… It is the suspension felt at the top of the inhalation, the void at the bottom of the exhalation. It is where dawn meets day, where dusk meets night.
It is the womb of the world from which all things are born.
In my previous blog reflection I spoke of my Bharatanatyam teacher in a video clip he shared with me. A small figure in an immensity of sky, river, and earth – he is seen walking away from the camera witness, becoming smaller. Then he stops.
For a moment frozen in time he raises his arms into the starting position for dance. He enters the liminal space. The space opening out from everything preceding this moment. The birthplace of everything that proceeds from this moment.
A recent post on my dance guruji’s Instagram page shows a long shot of him, seemingly caught between earth and sky. The sky is full of billowing grey monsoon clouds, the earth is grey, with no vegetation visible – a slice of river stitches the two together. Earth, water, space. Elemental. And this small human getting smaller as he walks away from the camera witness.
At a certain point he stops.
Then, for a moment frozen in time, he raises his arms in the starting position of Bharatanatyam.
And then, he starts to dance.
The vulnerable transparency of this touched me deeply. No makeup, no costume, no lighting effects, no camera crew… just a human who, caught between heaven and earth, makes a decision…