Darshan: to meditate with our eyes open bringing all that
is inside out and into view.
Rise. Roll. Spill. Retreat.
And so it goes…
The waters rage within her. They just do.
And yet she has taught herself to stand still in the maelstrom.
Be the anchor. The purveyor of reason. The stalwart of common sense.
For this perfection she is rewarded. Time and again. Success. Accolades. Even gratitude.
This is her badge of honor. Her gift. Truly worn with pride.
And yet. The ocean furies. Below.
The emotions, the passion, the longing
Dare she even say the hysteria…squall beneath the surface
She stands tall. Firm. Immovable.
But the wild currents are not deterred.
They swirl. Crash. Pound on her walls from within.
The cacophony of the wind. Rattles. Dislodges. Extricates.
So much so. Instead of silence. Meditation. Peace.
Today. She seeks rapture. Desperately.
Grateful affluence affords her this precious choice
Knowing this ‘lucky’ was not bestowed on others before her
To be unapologetically present. Eyes wide, wide open. To see and be seen by that raging sea.
To play. Unadulterated. And free.
To remember HER. Intimately.
To surf the exquisite madness that IS her
And bring the tempest of grace inside -- out into view
P.S. Many thanks to both the ocean and (well) Boston Dance Theatre’s evocative piece entitled Women on the Verge by Shannon Gillen, December 2019 for inspiring this post. Albeit oddly juxtaposed, I know (!) - both struck a frozen chord, somewhere deep within, renewing my license to feel the wonderfully wild spectrum of emotions (rasas.) May we all reclaim what makes us human, vulnerable and unpredictable time and again.
Rise. Roll. Spill. Retreat.
And so it goes…
The waters rage within her. They just do.
And yet she has taught herself to stand still in the maelstrom.
Be the anchor. The purveyor of reason. The stalwart of common sense.
For this perfection she is rewarded. Time and again. Success. Accolades. Even gratitude.
This is her badge of honor. Her gift. Truly worn with pride.
And yet. The ocean furies. Below.
The emotions, the passion, the longing
Dare she even say the hysteria…squall beneath the surface
She stands tall. Firm. Immovable.
But the wild currents are not deterred.
They swirl. Crash. Pound on her walls from within.
The cacophony of the wind. Rattles. Dislodges. Extricates.
So much so. Instead of silence. Meditation. Peace.
Today. She seeks rapture. Desperately.
Grateful affluence affords her this precious choice
Knowing this ‘lucky’ was not bestowed on others before her
To be unapologetically present. Eyes wide, wide open. To see and be seen by that raging sea.
To play. Unadulterated. And free.
To remember HER. Intimately.
To surf the exquisite madness that IS her
And bring the tempest of grace inside -- out into view
P.S. Many thanks to both the ocean and (well) Boston Dance Theatre’s evocative piece entitled Women on the Verge by Shannon Gillen, December 2019 for inspiring this post. Albeit oddly juxtaposed, I know (!) - both struck a frozen chord, somewhere deep within, renewing my license to feel the wonderfully wild spectrum of emotions (rasas.) May we all reclaim what makes us human, vulnerable and unpredictable time and again.
