15 breaths in headstand and all is pleasantly dis-orientated once again. Either that or I’m high on Nag Champa.
Yoga happened people. It happens.
Talking of circles – ever noticed the order of things? Now and then things bubble up from some forgotten time and pierce the present. Even 27 years on, the mirror reveals a brand new face. A story is never finished. And though some stories will never be heard, with a moment of luck we can at least colour in the pictures.
Each thing to its own time. Modern discourse would have us believe that things happen only when we force them into being. Make or break, make a move, make it happen. But perhaps we are not giving events the space they deserve. We don’t allow events to unfold and take their course. Everything always needing an endpoint, an object. (“Why don’t you teach yoga??” – This one’s going out to all of y’all). Perfectionism leads only to dead-ends – where to move from there? You’ve colonized the landscape.
I am not advocating some form of silent rebellion. (Otherwise known as apathy). But how about this: how about we follow those objects around, how about we allow ourselves to be affected by what comes near. An intervention always obscures, distorts, destroys; it is a violent act.
If only we were to stop in some way and see each other clearly.
And then I see you: I see you in my dream. But then I turn and run, run away from you. In your absence it always feels like I’ve forgotten something.
God, I thought I had it figured out. Belongings. As an orphan you develop this atomized sense of self-sufficiency. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. But there does lie an essential truth about me in that past. A stranger to myself. You are me and I am you, but who are you??
You win some, you lose some: that’s the lesson this year.
No more words. Heres to you Dad.