The Sun of November / Fear rooted releasing

The Sun of November

on grey seas reflecting

through solitude waving

and with it I move.


Uncertainty seething

and others sense drowning

the depths of our being

in stillness consumed.


Resistance to yielding

in virtue transforming

through darkness and greeting

an ancestry formed.


The Sun of November

through solitude waving

Fear rooted releasing

and with it I moved.



On violence and the nervous system

If you want to judge the extent of violence a certain group faces, in all the different forms everyday violence can take, what you need to do is examine the state of the nervous system of people belonging to this group.

Trauma layers after each clash with violence, no matter how subtle or imperceptible, and each layer grips the tissues, nerves and muscles tighter and tighter. The reaction becomes chronic, creating a sense of panic and danger even if the danger that originated the gripping response is not immediately present.

We often fail to recognise the subtle violence in our environment because we are desensitised and lead to think that what we experience doesn’t classify as violence because it is ‘not serious enough’. Next time you feel your body gripping, see if you can identify the source of this reaction. Don’t judge yourself if you can’t immediately recognise it or confront it; it’s all a practice, and you can only eventually address an issue if you can feel it clearly first.

And if you find yourself gripping by just sitting on the street, as I do, then do accept there is a battle to be fought; and if you don’t and someone tells you that they do, believe them. The response of their nervous system is one triggered by their survival instinct, and this occurs because experience and patterns observed have taught this highly intelligent organism that there is a threat. This isn’t rooted in fiction, because it is being picked up on a level where we are most attuned – the one of an animal body existing in the physical realm. Work needs be dedicated to adjusting our world so the threat the body registers is no longer present and / or appropriate rehabilitation is offered, not in wasting breath on trying to disprove the violent structure’s existence. The latter is impossible, and violent in itself.

Gratitude

What I want is to thank

the void

the universe

the mother

the teacher

the ultimate

for speaking to me in my dreams

for rewarding me even if I fail to notice

for calmly teaching me patience

for guiding me to the lessons I need to learn;


for showing me how to be playful

for leading me in the dance of creation

for showering me in gifts of abundance

and doing so more the more I commit

to learning the art of uncertainty

and softness.


I give thanks in gratitude for all that came before me, all that comes through me and all that shall follow, existing in parallel, now.



Wholeness of Sense

A flower which glistens one may dare collect

upon the old winds flowing downward with grace

shining abruptly at the base of its flight

then lingering upward in blinding delight.


Fragments of petals may finally meet

in that single moment where all feels complete

drawing a line amongst them in glow

as meaning embodied in bones starts to flow.


A wholeness of sense then does arrive

where mind in the body may quietly lie

where body is felt like never before

and fragmented pieces are separate no more.


Hovering over what mind can’t conceive

feeling, not thinking, at home there within

as deep from the tissues the hurt does so leave

and a space opens up for us both to weave.



Releasing to Being / Cracking Open

My heart in thorns is entwined

where light like night

in indigo shine

weary, with fright,

the meek and uncertain

away does divide.


My heart is in brightness conceived

(core pulsing

to rhythmic a beat,)

under thick coating beginning to gleam

revealing the true

and releasing to being.


My heart its own breadth now admits

seeping through thorns

sharp rays as it cracks,

open at last

to life’s greatest gift

as eternity in it softly may drift.




A translation of Gallop (Γκάλοπ) by Lena Platonos (Λένα Πλάτωνος)

Dear reader,

I offer here a humble translation of the transcendental closing track of Lena Platonos’ iconic album ‘Gallop‘. I do this to honor the feat of storytelling that many of the pieces on the album represent, as well as the fact she employs imagery which featured in the guided meditation that concluded my very first yoga practice, occurring some eight years ago in Thessaloniki, Greece.

Bisous,
Sia




Now,
just as a little air lifted,
everyone expected these days to be cool.
At least that’s what they all said.

Even the lady at the street pavilion
made mistakes in her transactions
from the excessive heat.

And on the radio
they prepare the winter
with humour and stability,
seriousness,

galloping through
and choosing different answers.

You close your eyes.
You arrange a date.
You close your eyes
and dream of different cities.
Sparsely populated cities in the night
lacking unnecessary sounds
whose light emanates from within the people,
from the walls of the houses.

A door opens.
Someone lifts their hand
and their greeting traces the shape of a star,

mmmm,

or rather a moon.

You reciprocate.
Slowly many gather,
then even more.

They all reciprocate
and their greeting traces the shape of a moon

and as they approach one another
they are united by that same gallop
of the first rain;
by the colour of the moon in their own touch.

Yes, and further down there is a couple
that have only a moon
that they cut in two,
biting the half

and again the half,
until crumbs are left behind.
Until nothingness remains.

But they share even that nothingness
as it appears that nothing doesn’t exist.

Maybe that’s why the light emanates from them so.




Weaving what we can’t conceive

Look not for it and you it shall find

all the same substance,

having no goal

yet brimming with purpose

;

shaping itself to that which

the torrent (below)

wisely evokes.


Do without

attachment to outcome;

abandon comparison

and embrace therefrom

:

the slow, benign (inconspicuous)

and the vastness of meaning

that from it so glows.


Emanating perpetually

and morphing throughout

in events as minute

as their occurrence bizarre

all we must do is listen and watch

as we permit it to weave

the life we could never conceive.



The Vastness

She swims in a vastness which drifts


and within its essence caresses;


in affection of past, foregone, uncovered,


through rhythm and motion and boundless expanse.



So it becomes


(her advance of no mould)


in uncertainty covered and tension released,


as she swims through the vastness


(swallowed by it)


and her fondness softly embraces.