Tandava

I walked over to the Verizon Center to see how the kalachakra was spreading into the space around it. Towards the end of my foray, the traffic light at a corner outside the Verizon Center changed in my direction, and I headed into the crosswalk. A cyclist going north in the southbound lane started cursing and screaming at me for blocking his way. The loudspeakers were blaring their usual commercial fare, the neon were glaringly lit even by day, the big video screens showing ads and offerings of upcoming sports events, and the tourists were jostling down the sidewalk, carrying their plastic containers full of stuff from McDonalds and Starbucks. On the other side of the Portrait Gallery was a special “market place” with silk shawls, t-shirts, silver and turquoise jewelry, thangkas, prayer wheels, and Himalayan food served in styrofoam containers with plastic forks.
I am as certain as it is possible to be that the space inside the Verizon Center is being transformed by the practice of the kalachakra for world peace empowerment inside. We cannot make others receive such an offering if they are closed and uninterested. We can, though, seek to open our own receptivity and our own hearts. As I observed my reaction to the plastics and the noise and having been cursed out when I had the “right of way,” I thought that the axiom “peace starts from within” is counsel that though we may not be able to change others, we can and are responsible for ourselves.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
When is garden statuary merely a decorative object and when is it a murti–an object of devotion, a representation of some aspect of the divine? It may well seem different for the artist, the person who chose its location, and the viewers.
Would you have a different reaction if this angel was on the grounds of a church? What about a temple? A national park? Your workplace? A sculpture museum?
I realize that this blog entry was in my drafts page; I never hit the publish button. As I ponder the few intervening weeks of snow (in some ways it feels as if time just stopped, except for the work that piled up and the lengthening of the light of day), I treat this as a reminder to myself to come back to “first principle” to respond with the most light — even in this unusually harsh winter:
On my way to Friends Meeting yesterday, I stopped at the Dupont Circle Fresh Farm Market yesterday to buy whatever was fresh. When I got in line with a daikon radish, a bunch of turnips, and a couple of leeks, I noticed the way the woman in front of me in line was holding her selection: sunchokes. Her hands were held as if she had just received prasad — the offering sometimes made after a puja so that the fruits of worship may actually be tasted and injested, incorporated with our senses and our whole bodies into our being. “Your hands and those sunchokes are so beautiful,” I said, “may I take a picture and use it for my blog?” “Sure,” she replied, “and shifted her hands a little so that it would be easier for me to frame the picture.” We talked while we waited in line about potential ways to cook sunchokes and how happy we were that the farmers (these particular farmers’ must be incredibly good at working with cold frames) were out all year.
Seeing this offering of the earth itself, the farmers who tended the earth and grew the vegetables, the workers who made and repaired the vehicles that enabled the food to be brought into the city, the city and neighborhood for allowing the market to block off a street, the shoppers for supporting it, brought me back to my contemplations this week of what “first principle” means to me. I mentioned in an earlier post that my focus for winter classes would be Anusara sequencing principles. No matter what else we are doing or focusing on, it always starts with “first principle.” The “first principle” is what we call in Anusara “opening to grace.” For me, a large part of “opening to grace” is a recognition that all the nourishment we receive is a gift. When we practice such a recognition, then we practice receptivity, openness, gratitude, courtesy, respect, delicacy, and reciprocal desire to serve and make offering. How could one mindfully receive nourishment such as this fresh, beautiful food on a bitterly cold winter day, and not want to celebrate it by giving thanks, nurturing the earth, supporting the farmers and the market, learning how to prepare it as tasty and healthful as possible, and share it and other things with those around us?
