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