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