Sourdough Bread

On my way to bake sourdough bread at Souen macrobiotic restaurant in NYC, ducking down to catch the A train. I had just graduated from the Juilliard School in dance and I was still taking deep breaths after a Lower Broadway dance class, feeling invigorated. The teacher had asked us to move across the floor with wide sweeping gestures and then stand in stillness while thinking of a red barn on a vast open field with an early autumn chill. First, we moved the air and then the air moved us. (There's a deep stillness in movement.)

The Tibetan Timpani blasted thunderously as the humble cook walked in slowly. He was wearing white. The sound shook me.  I wondered, is he going to be sacrificed? All still so new to me. He then bowed to say we could begin our oriyoki meal of nourishing stew sprinkled with fresh thyme. I was beginning my 2 years of living on retreat. Pretense was spilling as I learned that Zen monks eat quickly. It started to rain gently on our huge white summertime tent. (The pull of contrast beckons us everywhere, to wake us up.) 

I was wearing black and holding a bright fresh orange of congratulations given to me by a fellow student and I was stretching through my legs surrendering my weight through my feet, into the floor, the earth. It was the last day of classes for my Somatic Psychology degree from Naropa University. I found myself clinging to the orange for dear life asking, "What will bind me to the wisdom learning I’ve been given these many years? What will keep it vibrant?" I was answered with, "Rhythm, my dear, the rhythm of a creative life!” (We are folded within the cycles of life, part of its creative process.)

"With gentleness, something intense....emerges, emerges - heart ache vividly compressed against spring’s radiance -the density of the years marching on: perseverance, denial, betrayal - and little green buds surprise us with their vividness… in the moment, in the moment, we are alive”