Urban Forest Bathing
“Sometimes,” said the woman in red sitting outside the courthouse.
“Sometimes you gotta,” she said to her co-workers, the red jersey
Of her dress clinging to her ample curves while she kicked
The granite ledge where she sat amidst a din of everyone talking
At every one else, not listening, some smoking, but not eating, on a break
Of some kind. Maybe they were jurors not court staff or perhaps visitors.
Funny that they didn’t have some kind of badge, all of them talking.
All of them talking and looking like they did the same type of work or had something
In common, talking all at once to a group that was familiar, but didn’t care to listen.
Amidst the talking, too many at once, and the clacking of her heels, like a kid, against
The granite ledge, “sometimes you just gotta be quiet,” she said to nobody listening.
When I pause to think about it–something I try to do consistently with the fruits of technology–it is an extraordinary marvel that I can be telling stories to the world from a little device I am holding in my hand, one that also has let me speak and exchange notes while I am away from home with friends, colleagues, and business connections.
What I cannot do (more likely because I haven’t yet learned how than it is not possible) is to be my usual careful self when posting entries. I have not done hyperlinks to attrbute my sources, nor have I spell-checked. At home, I would not hit the “publish” button without doing those things.
Under the circumstances of being away from my regular computer, my library, the ability to check my references, and to provide proper citation, but being brimful with enthusiasm for being with my teachers, colleagues, friends, and the practices while I am at the teachers’ gathering, it seems better to post than not, using the means at hand. I sacrifice some of my usual discipline to share the joy.
All of life is like that. We may have ideals of what is proper, what are our standards for appearance, for work, for sharing a meal or our homes. When circumstances limit our ability to meet our own standards, it is part of the yoga to see whether the standards are binding us or serving to help us better connect. I believe that we should always strive to be more precise, more technically accomplished, better able to convey a sense of grace and beauty. But that effort should not cut us off, bring us to a halt, disempower us, prevent accomplishment of things. Most of all, it should not deaden a sense of spontaneity of gesture–the part of art and relationship that reveals our true spark.
Santa Fe, NM, 10/25/19
