a matter of layers

life is a matter of layers.
it is a journey deeper and deeper towards real
arrival at which is nothing short of difficult

dear reader... yes, vacations have ended and routines recommenced, yet summer still bathes us in bright sunshine and crystal clear skies . . . & so i offer this posting, written deep in the caress of an august afternoon, as an ode to summer, a little something to hold onto as we move into the rush of fall

*

i found myself in a bikram class last sunday morning...
it was one of those sunday mornings in the deepest part of summer
as august quietly folds us into its hazy lull and the world seems to release its shoulders,
pull in a long deepened breath & sit . . .
so here i was, otis on the next mat over, with a sense that
all the world was away, all life's pressures lifted
... leaving us with a moment to go inside our own world and be

as we began the 26-posture routine, a crystal clear thought came into my head:
life is a matter of layers;
it is a journey deeper & deeper into real;
arrival is nothing short of difficult

and so we moved into what i have decided is one of the most difficult
yet least acknowledged asanas of the series,
dandayamana-bibhaktapada-hanushirasana
/standing-separate-leg-head-to-knee pose
- with arms extended overhead, hands in prayer position and feet planted,
we pivoted a quarter turn to the right. the teacher counted the rotation -
'one, two, three, four five times' -
as we worked to square our hips evenly forwards
a mirror reflected our progress

at this point in the asana, on this sunday morning deep into summer,
i noticed everyone rhythmically twisting
'one, two, three, four, five'
we were working hard to align our hips;
'one, two, three, four, five'
we dutifully pulsed
yet despite our efforts, hips remained akimbo,
left higher than right, right in front of left
we all earnestly pulled the top halves of our bodies,
shoulders and arms,
yet our hips came no closer to straight

to square the hips in an even plane
demands a release of external layers of expectation
from there, we must travel to muscles deep and low
within the torso, the muscles of the gut
- the mula bandha, root, soul -
a deeply internal layer
that it is all too easy to miss

my mind jumped to a scene in the movie
the motorcycle diaries,
the story of two young men,
ernesto & alberto
& their life-changing journey through latin america.
late one night, while visiting a leper colony on an island in columbia,
ernesto watches as alberto joins in a drumming circle
i watched the scene, marveling as
each man created a rhythm from an energy
residing deep down in his own soul
i had noticed in earlier scenes that dance
was so much a part of life there -
a natural, simple expression of joy

as alberto & ernesto picked partners & joined in the celebration,
i considered how little we dance ... actually, really, never
& when we, or at least i, do,
it is stiff, self-conscious
wholly disconnected from that 'soul seat' of my body
... & i have never played the drums

not long after, i picked up the september issue of yoga journal
and began to read about trance dance,
a form of yoga practiced in a dimly lit room, sometimes using blindfolds
the idea: to access an inner rhythm with which we have lost touch
explains one teacher regarding the freedom this brand of yoga allows,
"if you close your eyes, nobody can see you.
it's magic"

*
yes, it is august and i have been been going daily to an outdoor pool
swimming the 440-yard length, soaking up the clear warm sun
while gliding through the cool pale water...
two lengths is a lap of which i do 20;
it equals a mile
finished, i read in the sun until i've dripped dry,
then fly home on my bike
it seems every muscle
is awake and breathing . . .

i wonder, though,
are the swimming and the yoga
exercises in fortitude,
exertions of strength, displays of power?
i think of ernesto, alberto, the dancing & drumming
i consider stripping away a layer of control, looking a little deeper...
can i tap into a place still further in
a place that requires vulnerability rather than fortitude,
requires exposure of the soul rather than confirmation of strength
can i access an inner rhythm, move according to cues more emotional, less rational...
render myself vulnerable rather than powerful,
continue down the corridor deeper into the realm of real

... i don't know ...

*

it is summer and some of the layers of life have been pulled back
so that body and soul can breathe, take in the light,
get some air, come out and celebrate
to swim is to strip off the layers of clothing and inhibition,
it is a chance to see yourself 'naked', genuine,
no veils or masks,
no smoke and mirrors . . .
then loose this awareness of the outer self
in order to head inwards... capped & goggled,
the world becomes a collection of impressions, blurred and muffled
... the whoosh of water layers over the senses
one, two, three, breathe
one, two, three, breathe
a gentle but firm rhythm lulls me deeper and deeper
into a layer of thought not accessible during the day-to-day,
a place where solutions sit calmly waiting to be noticed,
possibility resides ready to be embraced,
a serenity exists eager to be released

back in the yoga studio
i square my hips, keep them parallel to the floor,
to do so requires complete focus...
i must resist the assistance of my outer hip,
quad muscle, even my knee
i must let those supports fall away
then find & engage
muscles much deeper in & not as strong or ready & willing to work
... core muscles so deep inside i don't know their names

to turn these muscles on
i press down on my right big & 2nd toes, push through my arms & index fingers,
allow my mula bandha & uddiyana bandha
(those muscles of the solar plexus)
to do the lifting ...
i shake, wobble, refuse to give in to my outer left hip or knee,
i struggle to balance . . . i'm the last in the class to rise,
i tremble as i return to center

*

we all do our own dance, some more scripted, others go freestyle.
regardless of form, the dance is about taking a moment to tap into a rhythm,
a repetition, a meditation in order to take ourselves
to our more interior layers

this is the journey & it moves us towards real
it begins with stripping
away any vagaries and half-truths
in order to reach the more specific,
because in the land of real,
honesty is the only currency

when we truly square off our hips and rise up using only core muscles,
when we do our 20 laps using those same muscles to hold us horizontal in the water
then stretch through each stroke according to a rhythm internal,
when we dare to dance from the inside out
or drum a beat according to a soul rhythm,
we are tapping into real

life is there in layers,
forever daring us to go deeper
it is a journey and it is difficult
it demands letting go of our eyes & ears
in order that we may access our soul

*

& so dear reader, as summer takes its last sweet deep breaths & bathes us in its clear light, if we can bow our heads to those precious moments of august ... & as we begin pulling back on the layers - the sweaters, the scarves, the jackets and hats, if we can not forget those deeper places - those moments of summer - & know they are still there for us to lean on when we need them
xo
cocoa

big toe and beyond

it has been a while, dear reader, and i am finding it difficult to move back into this space . . . though i know there is much for us to consider . . .

just as the last posting was being completed, the title and essence of this posting made itself known . . . plenty of notes fill my journal from that moment and the days following, as ideas for points to be made, words to be quoted and connections to be revealed tumbled forth . . . but what of those thoughts, now over a month old and buried i know not where amid the many entries since which, save an identifying date, appear only as graceful scrawl on expanses of white . . .

perhaps the turning of a yellow tab, now cataloging the most promising thoughts on these pages, will prove the key . . . open a door . . . let me back into the room ... the room in which the idea of moving beyond big toe felt quite essential to discuss

'step out of your mind,' instructs graham, the newest in the lineup of bikram guides, as he reminds us that any unpleasantness we experience is simply an observation by one facet of the mind . . . we can choose to step out of that dimension, that room . . . walk into a different room, one where we can observe ourselves in a happier endeavor - 'doing something that brings you pleasure,' he suggests. 'walk into that room & stay there, instead. your body will continue on through the exertion, now, with much less struggle . . .'

we've all had this experience in one form or another . . . when the routine -- perhaps a workout, maybe a commute, a regular meeting or other repeating chore -- seems to be taking forever, when previously the time passed by almost unnoticed

graham continues: 'The practice of yoga teaches you to control the mind, to control where in the mind you spend your time' . . . to step out of the area where you are experiencing discomfort -- to step out graciously and choose a more productive room in which to enter . . .

Not too long ago, i experimented with a three-day detox . . . hardly a fast, it derived from ayurvedic healing and meant eating a mixture of white basmanti rice, split mung beans & various spices & flavorings, prepared as a stew . . . the instructions were to eat the khichri, as it is called, for breakfast, lunch, dinner & any snacks in between, drinking only a special tea of hot water steeped with cinnamon, cardamom & ginger. . . that meant no coffee, alcohol, fruit, bread or sweets . . . for 72 hours . . . at first, i found the sameness of the food, one meal after another, calming & realized how our bodies labor when we take in too much or conflicting combinations of food

but soon that revelation was overshadowed by desire -- whether for the full complement of dishes at a dinner or something sweet for breakfast . . . or perhaps just my steaming bowl of cafe au lait each morning -- & the subsequent struggle (both mental & physical) to remain detached . . . after much effort spent debating whether i should continue detoxing or return to normal life, i had a thought: cocoa, try moving your mind over 'here' . . . go to a room further in, where entrance requires even greater honesty . . . see there that you will not die without a cup of coffee; it is a feeling, going on in another part of your house . . . you don't need grilled chicken with your 'rice & beans' dinner; tonight, the rice & beans is sustaining enough . . . the chocolate & pretzels that get you through the late afternoon lull are simply distractions, as is the glass of wine you desire, while preparing the evening meal' . . . i try stepping out of those old rooms . . . go into this new one & instantly i notice how simply, calmly sustaining my body finds a deep breath of air, a tall glass of water, the warmth of a simple spice tea - I feel released from the struggle; what seems a false 'need' for the constant influx of solid, dense, demanding 'support' has fallen away

from this new vantage point, the threat of any denser substances in my body would prove distracting . . . would hold my awareness in the aspect of my more superficial systems . . . muting sensations in more intimate realms of my being . . . unfortunately, the room offering a lighter fare has at its center an unsuspected trap door, one that without warning dumps me back into the old dungeon of want & desire . . . no sooner do i talk myself out of one desire, when a new one pops up, or the old one returns . . . as if a supercharged magnet is pulling me back to one of those outer rooms . . . remaining in the new room demands a dogged determination . . . sometimes even that is not enough . . .

but when i can, i pick up my mind and move it ... out of the brilliant rays of the pull . . . into a little shade, where the relief is sweet . . . & to stay requires doing nothing, save taking a deep breathe . . . relaxing into . . . being open, suspended . . . free of the pull

and i return to big toe . . . 'don't expect to be held just on your big toe' comes the order in a bikram session not long after the last posting . . . of course, i thought . . . big toe is just where contact is made with the ground . . . just as i am not meant to sink into a vat of mung dahl, i am not meant to drop my full weight into big toe - both are points of contact, there to stabilize; nothing more . . . the true source of suspension lies with muscles more internal & located higher up in the body . . . access involves a shifting of mind as well as weight . . . once we can take our mind to a place that thinks, 'up through the back & top of the head, up through the muscles nestled deep inside the ribcage, up through the balancing zone between eardrums & cheek bones,' we find we need far fewer external infusions . . . if we find a moment to leave the physical supports, to move into a more interior room . . . we discover a fresh point of balance . . . where the energy shifts, where the effort seems no effort at all . . .

finding big toe

today my balance stayed in bed while i got up far too early . . . a pre-dawn bikram class & at some point, i gave up trying to hit any asana . . . surrendered to gravity . . . & began to practice as if it were my first time . . .

with each successive pose, i simply tried to find center . . . we were up to the one-legged balancing series - standing on our right foot in dandayamana-janushirasana/standing head to knee pose . . . so, where is center? middle of that standing right foot, 2nd & 3rd toes, no?

No ... center . . . big toe . . . to find center is to shift one's weight forward & in . . . to the big toe . . . triggering the deepest muscles of the abdomen & torso to engage . . . it is about suspending one's self not from bones & joints but rather by the invisible force of one's muscles & mind

but . . . try getting there . . . shifting balance to the big toe requires a certain courage ... just as swami vivekananda says, "the mind naturally goes outward" .. so, too, does one's balance . . . to the outer bounds of one's hips, knees & heels ... most of us take support from our edges . . . perhaps because it seems a broader base, perhaps bones & joints seem parts of ourselves most solid to lean on . . . perhaps because remaining on the outside of our bodies keeps us on alert, ready to protect . . . or because we are tired, or lazy . . . & so yield to where our attention most readily goes . . . outward

but this is an unbalanced balance . . one born of fear, one we are taught . . . as the layers of years move us from our center to our edges . . .

our edges . . . our external self & its relationship with the outer world . . . to stay in this layer, accommodating expectations & obligations without reprieve . . . is to let external distractions limit our potential, drain our resources, deplete our reserves . . .

jill ker conway, in a woman's education writes, "the challenge in adulthood is to sustain that inner self while entering passionately into a complicated set of relationships, any one of which may constrain who we are."

and yes, dear reader, you may be thinking, "oh, cocoa, these are words of one somewhat older & wiser, who has reached a point in life where it is time to be more reflective, to turn inward" . . . perhaps . . . but the fact that i can do so at this point in my life is due to habits & experiences i began accumulating when much younger, that i practice consistently & continue to build on . . .

so when i see lulu, in a quiet moment away from school, friends, the soccer field, wading through the dense & evocative prose of zola's nana just because it seemed intriguing on the bookstore shelf or teaching herself italian in preparation for a summer trip to rome, after she finishes studying for yet another latin quiz in addition to her french homework, i know she is acquiring the tools to have a rich inner life while sustaining an outer presence full and balanced

when oscar sits for hours playing a computer game but feels i am putting him through undeserved torture by requiring him to read for 30 minutes, even if it is the sports section of the new york times, i worry . . . Not only is he lacking the reflex to pick up a book or anything for that matter & read, to seize the opportunity to engage with himself & his imagination whenever he finds himself idle, but he is also missing out on the cumulative acquisition of a great depth & breadth of knowledge that will inform his future & make his mind a more interesting place to be . . .

the lure of our external world - t.v. & computer, fast food & quick fixes, in addition to the quotidian demands of chores, family, friends, etc. - can surely make reading & other solitary pursuits feel agonizingly labor-intensive & isolating . . . even equipped with the best intentions, opportunities & tools, we are never far from the temptation to escape outwards . . . so, what anchors us in?

it is this: the conviction that time spent alone, at center, . . . whether sinking into the intricacies of a masterfully crafted novel, watching the concentric ripplings made by the kayak paddle widen ever outwards in the silent still of a lake's pre-dawn mist, exploring the twists and folds of one's own mind while filling the pure white of blank journal pages, inhaling so entirely that every cell of the body is filled with a breathe of lemony delicacy that is a gentle white magnolia blossom whispering across the deep humidity of an august night . . . is essential to our happiness, yielding some of life's most exquisite exchanges, forming the foundation from which we negotiate all other dimensions of life . . .

"The world today does not understand, in either man or woman, the need to be alone," writes anne morrow lindbergh in a gift from the sea . . . "Actually," she observes, "these are among the most important times of one's life - when one is alone. Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone."

time alone . . . forward & in to center . . . presumes solitude . . . & too often when presented with the potential, we sabotage the possibility ... "instead of planting our solitude with our own dream blossoms," continues lindbergh, "we choke the space . . . fill the vacuum. We must re-learn to be alone."

according to his holiness the dalai lama, the most fundamental problem in the world today is this "neglect of . . . our inner dimension"

so, dearest reader, with great urgency we must honor rather than ignore - truly, fully tend to rather than dismiss - our inner self . . . it is not an indulgence, it is essential . . . we must make a habit - daily, weekly, monthly, seasonally, annually - of incorporating moments of solitude into our lives . . .

once we have gone forward & in, found center . . . we must stay a while, observe what unfolds . . . & then watch it unfold even further still . . . eventually allowing ourselves to go places we could never have anticipated

my weight shifts forward & in . . . to center ... big toe . . . gradually, my foot relaxes into full contact with the ground . . . from which an upward spiral begins . . . offering me a taste of profound stability, a balance most genuine

xo

falling

it is an age-old struggle, universal yet personal ... & we meet it with greatest regularity on monday morning . . . how to shift gears . . . reconnect with the momentum that was last friday ... so instantly evaporated in the whirlwind that was the weekend ...

dear reader, we've talked a lot about space - having, making, sneaking, forcing space into being . . . & in that space, discovering moments where all else falls away as we 'disappear' into our passion ... explore potential, find our voice . . . & in so doing, are sustained each by our own effort & soul . . .

. . . and, so what happens . . . when we fall?

we all do . . .

falling out is inevitable & essential . . . no-one remains in perpetual suspension; it is not possible, nor is it desirable ... suspension requires tremendous exertion - & often means pushing ourselves to the edge ... other times, we must step out . . . in order to tend to the more public duties of life. regardless of how or why we have released suspension, we ultimately want to return . . . but moving back into this delicate, intimate space can seem impossible ... the gears won't shift ...

today's bikram guide addressed this very struggle: "when you feel like you can't do it . . . just do one little thing, just start ... you will find from there the energy of the practice will pull you along . . .'

ok . . . but sometimes we cannot figure out where or how to start . . .

fact: it is easier to concentrate on the concrete, the immediately gratifying . . . everything in our consumer-oriented world plays to this fact . . . according to swami vivekananda, "the mind naturally goes outwards"

so for those of us who dare turn our minds inward, these moments of transition from the external to that sacred, though often elusive, space of the internal can be quite uncomfortable . . .

for it is in transition that we meet a most personal struggle -- do we default to distraction . . . or can we just ... stop ... wait ... do nothing ... meet monday morning with no to-do list, appointment, lunch or meeting . . . sit with ourselves without props deflecting our discomfort . . . perhaps, just this once, let ourselves fall ...

bonnie, of the school of body-mind centering(R), urges us to do just this . . . let go of intention . . . "yield into nothingness & observe what arises" . . . she knows in the pause there is profound support . . . if we dare to look . . .

hermine meinhard talks about 'going into the unknown" . . . she, too, knows that beyond the visible & routine lies this esoteric realm of sensation & experience . . . tapping into which requires great calm & yields great riches . . .

like working on one small section of a jigsaw puzzle with no sense of where these few pieces fit into the whole . . . we arrive by letting go . . . leaving the desk to fold a load of laundry, setting down the notebook to help millie with the spring washing of the windows . . . stopping on the way out of the park to throw the tennis ball against the stone archway . . . & in those moments a thought occurs, a connection appears . . . we return to our desk to see that in spite of our despair, our work is taking shape . . . we have clicked back into the zone of suspension ... & didn't know it . . .

it's just before class & a skate board leans against the wall - sandpapered surface frayed black & marked with !por vida! cradled between neon turquoise mystic crows, a stenciled skull in dulled lime, a quote in dirtied bubblegum pink ...

'we do without doing

and
everything gets done'

the board belongs to this 100th monkey

xo
cocoa

silk mirth subtle, part iii

& dear reader, there is more . . .

beyond the details . . . a place deeper still where to loose oneself is sublime ...

silk mirth subtle, part iii

this particular day, this 100th monkey began calling out one of his regular mantras: "remember when you stretch your body, you stretch your mind . . . '

this time, though, he continued . . .

'when you stretch your mind, you open this big beautiful space ...

where you can invite your soul to come in . . .'

&, of course, he is talking of that internal, intangible place where amazing, unpredictable 'things' happen . . . and afterward you say, 'i don't know where that came from' . . . almost as if you went temporarily unconscious, while something was being channeled through you . . .

in a recent poetry class, i tasted this rarefied state .. .

for our in-class assignment, we were asked to pick one from a stack of poems, each in an unrecognizable language . . . the delicacy & elegance of characters on one particular page beckoned me . . . then i heard, 'ok, now, translate it' ... the room went silent . . . as every other poet started writing, i stared at mine . . . a rush of slashes & marks...my mind was blank, as i began hearing the clock tick, the heat clunk on, then off again . . . i peeked up at the teacher arranging her notes, shuffling her papers, apparently unaware of my struggle . . . 'i must write something down; she is serious,' i thought . . . i began mechanically, primitively noting what i saw: 'stick figures, ballerinas, warrior, ladders . . elegance, even in jumble' . . . parsing through the intrigue of strokes & cross hatchings . . . my mind shifted (i know not when) into another realm of consciousness . . . there, i was writing according to a different energy altogether: 'go into strength & be solid, a ladder for others to climb. let tears fall & then support them' . . . the words were coming from a space of absolute mental suspension

then just as suddenly, no more words; i considered going on but could not. the poem was complete . . . the words, like a whisper of balsam . . . occurred in a moment . . . then . . . effort released, energy evaporated . . . i cupped my head in my hands & closed my eyes . . . i was spent & had no real sense of what i'd left on the page . . .

only upon reading it aloud to the class did i begin to grasp the intensity of what had been recorded there ... a sense underscored by the silence of the room, the teacher nodding her head, speechless. one colleague eventually commented, 'it is oracular, offered with such grace & humility' . . . the poem was the product of extreme focus, coming into this world from a place of perfect balance between the kick and the stretch . . .

'if you kick too much but stretch not enough, you'll fall . . . if you stretch too much but kick not enough, you'll fall,' explained this 100th monkey . . . 'you have to find the balance between the two ...'

xoxo
cocoa

silk mirth subtle, part ii

& what of that which is found in suspension . . .

silk mirth subtle, part the second . . .

every august, as we head out of the adirondacks back to city life, we make the obligatory visit to the roadside general store ... buying tokens & gifts to dispense upon our return . . . this particular time, i bought a balsam potpourri ( a little pillow filled with fragrant shavings) so that i could possess the sublime ... indulge in it anytime i want . . . no longer having to be sustained by random & elusive encounters ...

the potpourri sits in a compartment of my desk, a dull distillation ... an occasional whiff of which disappoints . . . i've tried to hold on to a piece of the divine . . . & in captivity, it is but a flat & hollow echo

'don't forget, if you fall, it is because you've stopped the kick' ... this 100th monkey reminded us, as once again we were cantilevered into tuladandasana, suspended by his urgings to push, stretch, defer to the details ... 'i know you think i'm picking on you all, but . . . the details, my friends . . . they are everything'

the details ... the essence of it all ... found there . . . in suspension ... we just have to access them . . . have to be willing to get lost in the pause ... without concern for where we are going or for how long . . .

and i think of otis:

at one point, the pump for otis' coy pond broke . . . the trickle of water falling over rock silenced; the water stilled . . . & so otis set about separating hose from motor, cleaning moss & silt from intake valve. once reassembled & back in the pond, the pump kicked back on & the flow resumed . . . until . . .

evening upon evening, repeated cleanings later, otis dismantled the pump & began to study . . . half-in, half-out of the pond, leaving screwdrivers and bolts, metal plates & pliers precariously strewn around the pond's edge, he worked as daylight dimmed . . . & one evening, he noticed the tiny plastic 'imploder' . . . no bigger than his fingertip . . .was broken. next, he set about procuring a replacement . . . searching the web, comparing prices, eventually placing an order. . . tracking the shipment, knowing precisely when it would arrive . . . then back on hands & knees, daylight still dimming, he recommenced fussing & fiddling . . . until the shiny white plastic mini-propeller slipped into place, filter resuscitated . . .

surely, i would have thrown my hands up in dismay, thrown the broken pump out in disgust, assumed someone else would need to repair it for me. i too quickly would have bought a new one full price & declared the pond a burden, draining my time and money . . . not otis; his near mystical ability to pause kicks in, as he steps back, takes note, does nothing right away . . . then, unafraid to explore, he begins immersing himself in the details, guided by the belief that he is able to fix what is broken . . .

bonnie, of the school of body-mind centering(R), refers to otis' process as 'sitting in the synapses' . . . waiting, observing, receiving ... & being willing to doing so, long after patience is spent ...

never is otis harried by another's sense of urgency, nor does he force a fix . . . he moves to a rhythm of his own . . . his process is organic . . . his destination profound

there is no need to run outside
for better seeing . . .
rather abide
at the center of your being
for the more you leave it, the less you learn
search your heart and see
this way to do is to be

these are the words of lao tzu, ancient chinese philosopher & author of the tao te ching, written more than 2,000 years ago . . .

the 'secret,' writes swami vivekananda, who in his book Raja-Yoga, speaks of reaching perfect bliss, eliminating misery, is . . . concentration . . . 'believe nothing until you find it out for yourself'

concentration . . .where you give yourself to the process, focus on the details . . . not something that comes easily in this fast-paced, break-speed world where we expect answers instantaneously, where quick fixes & externally imposed solutions are but a click away and shoulds & musts leave little time unclaimed . . . it is counter to our 21-century orientation to move at a more meditative pace . . . but, in fact, therein lies such sweetness . . .

in the pause . . . over time . . . with repetition, connections & answers . . . like cream . . . rise to the top . . . found in their wake: stability, clarity, potential

standing on one leg preparing for dandayamana dhanurasana, i hear this 100th monkey say, 'just focus on the kick for the first 5 seconds; don't even start the forward bend' ... & so i do . . . finding in the kick a truer balance . . . from which i can move with ease, go deeper, more fully into the suspension . . . & i stay . . . not wobbling, tilting or falling . . . my standing foot is calm beneath me; a mysterious lightness buoys me . . . 'if you have the kick', this 100th monkey says, 'you can balance forever'

so . . . go, now ... get lost in some details . . . & ... when you are ready, check back in for silk mirth subtle, part the third

xo

silk mirth subtle

my apologies, dear reader, for an unexpectedly long hiatus . . . this musing has unfolded according to a rhythm all its own ... & i have had no choice but to oblige ...

do note, it is a posting in two parts . . .

& so it begins with a recent trip to a favorite style emporium to the avant-garde ... a confidante and i rendezvous there with regularity . . . treating ourselves to a touch of glamor . . . indulging, if modestly, in mixes & potions to infuse a hint of the mystical into our everyday

at the close of this particular explore, after kisses & wishes until next time, i headed off, the names of my purchases tumbling one over the other in my mind . . . mirth (a lip gloss) . . . subtle (loose powder) ... & ... at home, from a previous outing, silk (a powder blush) . . . subtle silk mirth . . . silk mirth subtle . . . i said it over and over - this tripling . . . distinct, clear, elegant . . . not sentence, phrase or clause . . . rather, an energy . . . sure, present, hovering . . . an ethereal delicacy . . . suspended . . . mid-air

'hold your body up' . . . sayaishii demands of us in our pre-dawn bikram practice. 'keep your torso light ... do not sink . . . you must suspend' ... i consider how much strength such lightness requires . . . i remember the cirque du soleil acrobat . . . jumping on his hands, yielding into the ground with each landing, only to push up into incredible lightness ...

the more you kick, the more you stretch, the more you stretch . . . the more likely you are to find suspension . . . for it is in that space between the kick and the stretch ... that suspension occurs . . . to relinquish the force in either direction in order to better grasp the suspension is to be left with nothing at all . . .

one recent morning, otis & i were leaving the park with the dogs when a whisper of balsam wafted up from the mulched path ... & was gone . . . vanishing as it appeared . . . leaving delight & wanting in its wake ...there was nothing to be captured from beneath our worn & muddied boots . . . i knew to keep walking, only then might it reappear . . .

when lulu was little, we would walk the drive of our adirondacks camp . . . looking under the canopy of ferns . . . for the fairies. . . a frond would sway . . . a breeze would give way to a rustling . . . the fairies were scurrying about . . . lulu and i would exclaim, 'ooh, i think i just saw a slipper disappear under that flower petal' . . . 'was that the flutter of wings?' . . .surely, the rational world would declare the absurdity here . . . that didn't matter to us . . . somewhere deep inside . . . in a zone of suspension ... still occurs a twitch of wonder . . . a little gasp of joy at even the remotest chance that little delicate fairies are going about their daily lives in and about their fern-covered houses .. & that lulu and i can pause long enough to allow for that possibility . . .

certain european medical cultures understand the body's circulatory system to contain isorings . . . zones of exchange . . . between artery and vein . . . where the blood is neither coming nor going . . . 'it is in the isoring that suspension occurs,' explains bonnie bainbridge cohen, founder of the school for body-mind centering(R). bonnie has spent a lifetime exploring the systems of the body, how and where they contain the potential for pause ...

awareness of these zones yields to calm . . . to a connection to space within one's being (physical, emotional, intellectual) where, bonnie tells us, 'you can find quietude & from there choose in which direction you will go'

. . . choose to not close off . . . not collapse . . . but rather, to suspend, observe, allow


. . . stones found on a recent winter beach ... one flat coal-grey, shimmering, another translucent plump, a third speckled celadon . . . on my desk, set on a washed aqua coaster, this tripling serves as foreground to the spare grace of a slip of dulled silver, a lost lighter waiting too in the sand that winter afternoon . . . les petits objets decoratifs . . .will they, when the moment of whimsy has yielded to the sure hand of practicality, be dismissed to the rubbish heap ... or ... will their space remain . . . touchstone to a precious winter afternoon spent at the beach . . . simply there . . . humble, innocent, evocative . . .

xxoo
cocoa