Today felt a little rocky.
Not in the torrential sort of way, but more in the way that spring feels when it's almost summer and the flowers have bloomed but it keeps growing warmer. In the way that it feels to recognize time folding in on itself.
I haven't really mentioned schedules, and that's in part because I don't want to, nor can I speak for everyone - a lot of us have different flows. But there are crews, unofficial "posses" that have formed around the slots for lessons, and desires to travel around town. This morning we had our last Monday of yoga, and the first day back from the weekend full of rest and reflection, as well as adventure and life's playful upsets.
Friday felt like a load lifted from our routine, and most of us went out to eat at the Royal Inn down the street. There were high aspirations to keep the ball rolling and have another involved henna party, but that lasted less than an hour and everyone was in bed by 10:30. Saturday subdivided into group and sub-group time, with more active members taking to the Green Hotel, and others staying back to recharge. The afternoon held sari shopping, a tumult of colors, textures and gems awaiting adoption. I think everyone involved had their own mini existential crisis in that bustling, two-story shop, but we all walked out in tact, and to three dead mice lying on a - as Sarah noted - cruel-y placed mouse trap in the middle of the city. Chandrakala, a SVYM staff member, our sari guide and my secretly dubbed trip-sister, kept our spirits high for most of it, but by the end of the blouse fittings, all the ladies seemed rather sapped of energy. Because of this, I stayed back for the apparently amazing violin concert, but it seemed that the full moon's energy that night rustled up a lot of inspiration and energy from our group.
Sunday kept the trend of morning self-organized and evenings together, some going again to check out the Green Hotel and others hermit-ing up before the show. 5 o'clock brought us out of slumbers to a totally welcomed but unanticipated group bonding game of waiting-for-the-bus-that-should-have-been-here-30-minutes-ago. The driver rolled up in style, nearly pulling a doughnut with the music blasting, and we proceeded to the "drag show"- yakshagana at a beautiful, older theater. In form with the late arrival, unexpected theatrics for the night ensued, and I think everyone showed their success at having brought the number one thing that was mandatory on the packing list. (It's a sense of humor. There was much giggling to be had.)
This morning was back to routine, back to yoga, back to breakfast, back to a consistency that is wearing out its promise. Having finished one book and through a second one in 24 hours, I was full of potential energy - the kind that comes from a story that seems it couldn't possibly end. Like how everyone supposedly gasps at Lakshmana's near-death experience in the puppet rendition of the Ramayana, as if they don't know Hannuman will come with the mountain in tow and everyone good will for sure make it out alive. Like how we fondle with fresh clay of the present, not thinking that it will just harden like the rest into futures stories of the past, not thinking that we have any control over how they'll turn out, just kneading and kneading until something shiny catches our eye somewhere else and we're onto the next...
So Allie went off to her violin lesson, while the vocalists and veena players went to their (our) lessons in the morning, and got to practice with our golden heart-ed gurus. Lunch came with everyone around, just after we got back, then Anu went off to her dance lesson, while the mridangam players had a jam session on the roof because their teacher is sick today. After an afternoon apart, which can feel like everyone has lived separate lives for a year and we are reuniting with different and unknown minds and presets, we met at the SVYM building for tea before the concert. Because I'd just finished my book, I was buzzing with ideals of love still in my heart, and eager to ground in with some inspired sounds. It seemed to me like everyone else was looking forward to it as well.
It was a veena concert, played by Saraswati-Ji, the veena instructor for our group. She is a beautiful, gracious woman, with the auspicious namesake of Goddess Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, music, arts, wisdom, and learning - who also plays the veena. During the show, the sounds and intention behind them felt like they hit all the right frequencies, and I was immediately put at ease. For the first time at a just music concert (not dance or puppetry etc), I felt like everything that we had learned was clicking. The tala was in my hand even when it was still, and for most of the first song I was lost behind closed eyes, but when I opened them I was right in sync with everyone else's tala and I felt so comforted by this universal method of interacting with the music.
The show went on, and I wished it could have lasted longer. At the times I felt my mind wandering or going elsewhere, I wasn't frustrated by shepherding them back to the moment, nor was I reprimanding their departure. It all felt welcome, and that when I focused back into the music, there was something more to be engaged by, imagine swirling in the air, lean into the rhythms of, or just be grateful for. The percussion duel at the end was more approachable, clever and clear than I'd been able to perceive yet, and I was super happy to be sitting on the floor in front of them. I thought about deep purple satin, the power of contained passion, expressions of symbolism and the joys of creating. By the end I felt I'd attained a whole new vocabulary for answering questions.
A few of us stayed back after the show to thank the musicians, and some tears were shed. It was a really precious return, as it seemed we all had allowed the show to wash over us, maybe assisting in the processing of this time slowly coming to a close. Whatever it was, I felt strength, joy and certainty in my perspective. For these things I am very grateful to all of the folks I've met here on the trip, as everyone has played their role in shaping it.
Not in the torrential sort of way, but more in the way that spring feels when it's almost summer and the flowers have bloomed but it keeps growing warmer. In the way that it feels to recognize time folding in on itself.
I haven't really mentioned schedules, and that's in part because I don't want to, nor can I speak for everyone - a lot of us have different flows. But there are crews, unofficial "posses" that have formed around the slots for lessons, and desires to travel around town. This morning we had our last Monday of yoga, and the first day back from the weekend full of rest and reflection, as well as adventure and life's playful upsets.
Friday felt like a load lifted from our routine, and most of us went out to eat at the Royal Inn down the street. There were high aspirations to keep the ball rolling and have another involved henna party, but that lasted less than an hour and everyone was in bed by 10:30. Saturday subdivided into group and sub-group time, with more active members taking to the Green Hotel, and others staying back to recharge. The afternoon held sari shopping, a tumult of colors, textures and gems awaiting adoption. I think everyone involved had their own mini existential crisis in that bustling, two-story shop, but we all walked out in tact, and to three dead mice lying on a - as Sarah noted - cruel-y placed mouse trap in the middle of the city. Chandrakala, a SVYM staff member, our sari guide and my secretly dubbed trip-sister, kept our spirits high for most of it, but by the end of the blouse fittings, all the ladies seemed rather sapped of energy. Because of this, I stayed back for the apparently amazing violin concert, but it seemed that the full moon's energy that night rustled up a lot of inspiration and energy from our group.
 |
| Green Hotel Lobby |
 |
| Rickshaw to shopping |
Sunday kept the trend of morning self-organized and evenings together, some going again to check out the Green Hotel and others hermit-ing up before the show. 5 o'clock brought us out of slumbers to a totally welcomed but unanticipated group bonding game of waiting-for-the-bus-that-should-have-been-here-30-minutes-ago. The driver rolled up in style, nearly pulling a doughnut with the music blasting, and we proceeded to the "drag show"- yakshagana at a beautiful, older theater. In form with the late arrival, unexpected theatrics for the night ensued, and I think everyone showed their success at having brought the number one thing that was mandatory on the packing list. (It's a sense of humor. There was much giggling to be had.)
This morning was back to routine, back to yoga, back to breakfast, back to a consistency that is wearing out its promise. Having finished one book and through a second one in 24 hours, I was full of potential energy - the kind that comes from a story that seems it couldn't possibly end. Like how everyone supposedly gasps at Lakshmana's near-death experience in the puppet rendition of the Ramayana, as if they don't know Hannuman will come with the mountain in tow and everyone good will for sure make it out alive. Like how we fondle with fresh clay of the present, not thinking that it will just harden like the rest into futures stories of the past, not thinking that we have any control over how they'll turn out, just kneading and kneading until something shiny catches our eye somewhere else and we're onto the next...
So Allie went off to her violin lesson, while the vocalists and veena players went to their (our) lessons in the morning, and got to practice with our golden heart-ed gurus. Lunch came with everyone around, just after we got back, then Anu went off to her dance lesson, while the mridangam players had a jam session on the roof because their teacher is sick today. After an afternoon apart, which can feel like everyone has lived separate lives for a year and we are reuniting with different and unknown minds and presets, we met at the SVYM building for tea before the concert. Because I'd just finished my book, I was buzzing with ideals of love still in my heart, and eager to ground in with some inspired sounds. It seemed to me like everyone else was looking forward to it as well.
It was a veena concert, played by Saraswati-Ji, the veena instructor for our group. She is a beautiful, gracious woman, with the auspicious namesake of Goddess Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, music, arts, wisdom, and learning - who also plays the veena. During the show, the sounds and intention behind them felt like they hit all the right frequencies, and I was immediately put at ease. For the first time at a just music concert (not dance or puppetry etc), I felt like everything that we had learned was clicking. The tala was in my hand even when it was still, and for most of the first song I was lost behind closed eyes, but when I opened them I was right in sync with everyone else's tala and I felt so comforted by this universal method of interacting with the music.
The show went on, and I wished it could have lasted longer. At the times I felt my mind wandering or going elsewhere, I wasn't frustrated by shepherding them back to the moment, nor was I reprimanding their departure. It all felt welcome, and that when I focused back into the music, there was something more to be engaged by, imagine swirling in the air, lean into the rhythms of, or just be grateful for. The percussion duel at the end was more approachable, clever and clear than I'd been able to perceive yet, and I was super happy to be sitting on the floor in front of them. I thought about deep purple satin, the power of contained passion, expressions of symbolism and the joys of creating. By the end I felt I'd attained a whole new vocabulary for answering questions.
A few of us stayed back after the show to thank the musicians, and some tears were shed. It was a really precious return, as it seemed we all had allowed the show to wash over us, maybe assisting in the processing of this time slowly coming to a close. Whatever it was, I felt strength, joy and certainty in my perspective. For these things I am very grateful to all of the folks I've met here on the trip, as everyone has played their role in shaping it.
Comments
Post a Comment