After - New Orleans

As I write this ‘first thoughts’ report, still not having unpacked my notes from the time completely, nor compared fully with others as to what their experience seems in retrospect, “Being Seen” is what jumps out to be written about. What does it mean, not to hide? What does it mean, in practice/play, to “show up” directly?

We began the week with a discussion of appearances, and each person shared our way of working, or in fact, purposefully not working, with specific exercizes. What I thought was an extraordinarily complex and very satisfying discussion began to take place about questions, about staying open in those questions, and about “doing nothing”. Doing nothing may be the most advanced practice of all…

Before we officially began on Monday however, Gaya arrived. On the first day we spent together I wrote:

“Sitting in Jackson Square in a chilly breeze. Church bells ring for quite a while and she says laughing “Longer than 90 seconds.” The music in this spot, if not clear, is nicer, more wordless, than where we sat a moment ago. There, a guy with a radio was playing Prince… a song that sounded like just itself over and over again, making little room.

I can sense so clearly the water just out of sight, and what arises is the phrase “this very land, this very body…” I have come on retreat, but I haven’t gone anywhere. There is no need. I feel quite at ease with Gaya, she working with her studies and I writing… just this.

I wonder about Pema’s next time chapter (I had questioned the jetlagged author the night before at dinner, eating the freshest broccoli soup, about the directions he might take, musing myself on the extent to which questions can ever be satisfactorily answered).

Funny how Gaya and I feel little pressure to talk; there is no catching up to do. Second Life has allowed us that, and I’m reminded of very young children who are content to play just next to one another for sometimes long stretches. Once in a while we turn and smile, noticing the birds, then a child chasing a dove and the grandparents say
“You almost had him.”

At 3 am I cannot sleep and sign on to attend a session. Compassion. What stays with me is no effort and the way that we sometimes force off a rock covering the opening of The Well. Did I say that? Someone else? What does it matter. While there I notice that it is my SL rezz day: 2 years. Two years? What does that mean.

Already there is a strange sense of time.

In two different spots, two different bands are playing John Lennon’s IMAGINE. An aged and somewhat eccentric looking couple sits next to me for a while. He gets restless and goes for a walk. She gently asks “You will come back in a better mood, won’t you?”

The more I dwell like this, just settle in and notice things, write them out, the more rested I feel… the sun warms my legs and this is it… the sacred ordinary. “Truth loves me” said Sylvia Plath. SO much… so much. Why do we forget? I think about an simple article I wrote about my time in SL… think about surface appearances and what lies beneath. We’ve got it all upside down I think, caught in seeking validations on the surface and relegating the substance to the side, constantly searching rather than Seeing…

Some teachers don’t care for the word “substance”, but I hear (speaking of Wisdom/Sophia) “that I may cause those that love me to inherit substance, and I will fill their treasures…” from Proverbs 8.

Interesting the way the bands are playing bits of music now “Let it be, Let it be, I’m a dreamer, let it be…”

Flash a few full days forward. Eos and Stim have arrived by then, and Lia. We have discussions of levels and fragments and totality. The ocean in each drop. Nothing Missing. “One level contains all levels.” Stopping. We have a funny conversation about adding on steps to dropping. Pema shares a story about a boy who is tricked into accepting his birthright as the king’s natural son, first getting used to a job in the stables, shoveling...

As if in the stables, the suite which contains our meeting room, is gotten to by walking through a few other rooms and a parking garage. Inside it is to me, out of an Austen novel, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell, and/or dreams in weeks preceeding: a Queen Anne four poster bed, high ceilings and large mirrors over fireplaces, tall window doors leading out to a wide balcony.
White brick.

The shutters are for show because they surely don’t keep out the sounds of the bands which get louder as the week goes on. Dynamic energy. We're OK with that.

Emphasis on Appreciation as staying with what is, without romanticism or aversion. Many things which fall in this category during the week. Deep practice and “Important Work” as comes up for Eos in a dream.

Indeed.

Many levels of homeless people… women screaming curses in the middle of the night, sirens, strip clubs. Out of another dream a woman wanders, offering beads. Many levels of avatarness… flamboyant masks and hats, thin Frenchmen dancing in fake mustaches. 

A darling singer in Mary Jane shoes, twitching and channeling another time,  sings:

I never cared much for moonlit skies
I never wink back at fireflies
But now that the stars are in your eyes
I’m beginning to see the light

I never went in for afterglow
Or candlelight on the mistletoe
But now when you turn the lamp down low
I’m beginning to see the light

Used to ramble through the park
Shadowboxing in the dark
Then you came and caused a spark
That’s a four-alarm fire now

I never made love by lantern-shine
I never saw rainbows in my wine
But now that your lips are burning mine
I’m beginning to see the light

In other accumulations, seems New Orleans is a t-shirt heaven as well.

A pleasure to meet Lia this retreat, at first quiet and by Friday singing full blown caberet… almost dancing but indeed “the world isn’t ready for her yet.” A person of delights… delighting in big meals, full laughter, and feasting at “Desire”.

Some nights I found myself treasure hunting through Nagarjuna, reading:

Even three times a day to offer
Three hundred cooking pots of food
Does not match a portion
Of the merit of one instant of Love.

So as for practical matters and what was “learned”?

Standing and walking meditation makes a different sort of space in a room.
There is nothing wrong with nothing happening.
What seems to be happening isn’t always what’s happening.
Sometimes we ‘classify’ information from ourselves.
It is Enough to share Company, generating space for one another.

I liked the little exchanges and dances we did with one another, each taking windows to spend one on one, two with two, or as three friends. Some spoke through color, purple shirts, purple shoes, walking down Royal Street.
Much time “alone together.”
Full laughter.
A Blues band that incorporated the audience in a very PlayasBeing way… some stepping in to play and some stepping out, spontaneous collaborations erupting and subsiding… unlikely characters.
Each expressing each other, dancing with what is.

Mirroring nothing happening, a funny song: “I got my mojo working but it just won’t work on you.” Tapping into expressions of sheer delight, Pema shares a video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Ny5ajCn0xw