Hayy and After Hayy
We stood in a circle, holding hands, chanting “Hayy’. The chant was work, but work by a willing band of people knowing where we were going, willing to dissolve but stay with one another. The chant was a continual auditory negotiation, a choir tuning itself as energy burbled in flutes made of twelve sets of lungs, diaphragms, vocal chords, tongues, teeth, skulls. These flutes bellowed toward single sounded-ness. We struggled. I felt nauseous. I felt light-headed. We galloped in rhythm toward a central destination, tethered by what we heard. Simple. Sensitive. Challenging. It was not a given; it was striven for. The best, beautiful work. Ease doesn’t matter; what matters is twelve people trying together.
Afterward, standing so still.
In me, a certain, activated stillness, a holding-ness throughout my body, a taught sail bellied with wind. My mind pure black, my breath a flame steady in the lantern of me, Karuna’s hand in my left hand — my unconscious — and Krys’s hand in my right hand — my persona. ‘No me’ flew, with two handmaidens, torpedo-ing through still space that is ‘no space’, no duration, no friction. My feet were open and solid, the arches banded. At the end of time.
Then a gentle stirring at the edge of the circle made me know it was the moment to squeeze the held hands, break the ring, and say “rest now’.