I am sitting in the yurt in our garden, I hear a simple chime in the background that hangs on a near by tree, the sound of the gardener next door, busy with his tools and the wind making the loose flaps of the yurt sound like wings landing on roof tops and fluttering birds, shaking loose feathers. I am still today. Little thought of what needs to be, just resting from a mind that has been curious as to what is next on the agenda. What is next? Does it really matter?
I remind myself of those words, ‘I am an actor on the stage of life, the script is already written and all I need to do is show up and play each role with a passion, nothing to control or make happen. Simply say yes to every opportunity and stop planning how I think it should be. Let the ideas drop into the box of shapes and if they fit through the holes then so be it. But if they do not then discard them because there is no time to sit with anything that does not serve or wastes any time. Time where I could be dreaming. Valuable time where stillness inspires and the journey has no beginning or ending, it just is.
The crow caws sending his rhythm to the world and I am aware that so much is happening out there, yet here in this stillness so little, like a seed in the ground so small so quiet, barely a movement and yet its potential of growth and what it can offer to the world is huge, expanding beyond all recognition of what it began as. A small brown shape mingled in with the dirt of the earth. Waiting – just waiting.
And then as the dancer unfolds me I feel warmth of sun on my body, just as when the little seed reaches upwards to the light, to stretch its limbs and become the very thing that calls to it. The energy of life finding its way through the cracks and crevices, fed by the energy of the earth and the waters of life, breathed on by the winds of change. How will this one little seed connect to the community around it. How will it spread out to be included in one forest, remaining with its own uniqueness and its own fragility, still being all it needs to be without the need of conformity and changing to fit in with that particular woodland, in ways that would force it to become something it was not. Yet changing skins subtly from season to season, changing its form as leaves and flowers drop to the ground, it knows the time for shedding and letting go, allowing the old to drop back to the earth, creating compost to feed new growth. This seed knows the seasons and knows how to adapt to them.
My own dance knows the threads to be woven, the weaving in and out of natures tapestries and all she guides us to be.