Come with me today, my pretties, to a curatorial of sorts…
We must begin with Alice and schoolyards.
Now wind down to this jutted landing spot that overlooks a vast and sprawling landscape. Dangle your legs off the edge and gradually open and close your eyes, whilst breathing in, hold, and release. Again and again.
Onward to gritty, gravelly spoken words engendering possible discomfort, yet remain listening and permit the imagery to spread into your periphery and onto your palette (please dismiss some of the photos in this video).
How do they come
to the come
to the come to the God come to the still waters,
and not love?
Open your lids from seeing ad infinitum and look to the concrete, the drama, the woeful and striking form of the body. Yelp, with abandon, yelp. Look at your fingertips, what is underneath your nails: coffee grinds, soap, dried tears, waterproof mascara, skin cells from pinching your thighs or tummy, skin cells from stroking your child’s back while they cried, a vast collection of curiosities from the day.
And now read this: I Want
Do you remember your hips? Your feet? Do you remember your legs spiritedly moving to a song? Do you remember your head as it is sweetly held by your neck as you dip and throw it back? Do you remember your conscience not caring about how witless you might look as you remember to release all of your body parts (we all know it takes much wit to arrive at such a place of surrender)?
If you can, move in a way that fits your most uninhibited, spiritual moments to her voice and want even more attunement and awareness and surrender of and for your body, health, vocation, others, and world.
Be a whale. I know, but work with me. Splash, please. Ok, now surge through the deep sea with a singular intention of preying upon something delicious. Schools of delicious. Open wide and satiate. Now, flop out of the water and onto your side with your fins playfully slapping your muscular, large, blue body. Voluptuous, powerful, terror.
Look in the mirror. See the lines of giggling, the lines of squinting to catch a glimpse of your lover from a distance, the lines of weeping over the hard day, the lines of inexplicable rage, the lines of misuse and carelessness. Care for this face, don’t cover it up, but find how wonderfully it accounts for life; like a tree’s rings.
I leave you with him,
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry
Rest in the grace of the world and be free.