In the middle of the day today , I took formal leave to bear witness at the march against gun violence on the Capitol grounds.
Having brought myself face to face with this many mothers of murdered sons, what could I do but offer respect, see what I can do to help from my own well-being.
This murti of Nataraja has been in the window of a store near where I work for at least 20 years. I often walk past is and just as often stop to admire it. I have never really considered taking it home, lovely as it is. The murti is simply too large for any of my rooms. I have mentioned its needing a home to a couple of different friends, who were looking for large murtis of Nataraja, over the past few months, but none have followed through.
Today, when I was walking past it on a lunchtime walk to the bank, I noticed a “commercial property for rent” sign in the window. I will miss having this resplendent image in my work neighborhood, but not enough to buy it and bring it home. I decided, though, to take a photograph. I know the owner only very casually, but well enough to know he is retiring, rather than being driven out by rising rental costs or the recession. The neighborhood has gotten trendier since Nataraja first appeared in the window. Nataraja might be replaced with a delicious restaurant or a fabulous store purveying things that entice me. Or the space could stay vacant or be used for something that holds no interest for me whatsoever.
Nataraja–lord of the dance of concealment and revelation, of dissolution and manifestation–is dancing here. The murti will be sold or transported away when the shop closes and will physically be gone.
I will have my memories of the image, a photograph I took with my BlackBerry, and will have had a sweet opportunity to observe the lord of the dance dancing away his own image.
Another day without rain. Please water your trees.
This is the view from the corridor just outside my office door. On the left is the Tax Court. On the right, is the homeless shelter where Mitch Snyder, advocate for the homeless, committed suicide. In between, the highway emerges out from under our building. At rush hour, especially on a rainy day, it is completely congested. Even on a cloudy day, not much light comes in the window. It is a north-facing view, and the windows are tinted.
If I were to be standing at a window on the other side of the building, it would be bright with sun. On the left would be the Capitol and the west lawn. In the center, the National Botanical Garden’s graceful contours would gleam on the far side of the reflecting pool. To the right, the National Mall, flanked by museums, would stretch in the distance to the Washington Monument.
What is important to remember is that both sides are always present. When we are facing harshness, demands, suffering, and challenges, we need to remember that beauty and light are still present. When we are filled with abundance, beauty, and light, then we must remember that there are others who are challenged and suffering and make efforts to extend to them our own abundance and light.
I gave thanks every day for my good fortune when we were traveling. On the last drive north, we went through areas of Tamil Nadu hit by the cyclone. The privilege and good fortune of being on our well-driven bus was even more telling knowing that we were only witnessing the aftermath of the cyclone through the windows from our air-conditioned comfort. We gave to a collection to repair roof damage that would have closed for some length of time a local school. I definitely was conscious of how much more we were engaged in the situation and wanted to help because we knew (albeit not well) people who were impacted.
What’s a gardener and concerned for the trees and the health of the planet citizen to do? I’ve got enough water in the rain barrel to water the vegetables and herbs once or twice, but what impact does that really have? At work, people were grumbling because it was cloudy. They seemed shocked when I advised them that we are an inch under normal rainfall for August and have a fairly significant deficit for the summer despite the July rains.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could move some of the flood waters that have fallen only a couple hundred miles away to irrigate our fields without disrupting our eco-system? Part of me just wants not to know about the consequences of global climate change, but it is hard not to notice that all the weather patterns I used to know and understand do not seem to apply quite the same way anymore. What do we do when the systems and practices we have in place for our ease, comfort, well-being, and understood day-to-day peace of mind are disrupted?
Yoga will not fix the big outer problems, but it can provide us with the steadiness and ease needed to stay present and be flexible in the face of crisis, upheaval, or disease. It can also provide insight into how we can live in better alignment. In the meantime, I am practicing gratitude. I know how blessed I am that, so far, the wild upheavals I read about in the news have not kept me from all the food and comfort that a person could possibly want. And I pay attention, because to be ignorant ultimately never serves ourselves or others.
One of the regular participants in the Wednesday night yoga practices called Uma “Fluff Girl” last week. “Right,” I thought. “That suits most of the time.”
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.