A salient aspect of Dancemeditation is learning to be receptive inside our bodies. We have to do not doing in order to undo overdoing. We make an effort to let go. Michael Sells in his beautiful introduction, in Early Islamic Mysticism, to Qushayri’s essay on Tawajad (Making Ecstatic), Wajad (Ecstasy), and Wujud (Ecstatic Existentiality), gives us the poetic frame of this experience and of our path of effort. It is a complex discussion that penetrates as far into the heart of Sufi mysticism as one can reach. Read more
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The retreat in Mexico is complete. I sit under the canopy lunching on greasy, soft pork ribs with Claudio Naranjo and Cynthia Merchant. Sparrows dart in and out of the bougainvillea, calling sharply, insistently, joyfully to one another. We watch them meet and tussle face to face, wings whirring in their mating. They carve little hollows to nest in the rush roof over our heads, then gather fallen feathers to upholster their birthing chambers.
I said, “I have a new life.” My heart felt soft. Read more
During the Asheville, NC Dancemeditation Weekend:
I had strong dreams which I can’t remember — part of their charm, but it was a relief to sleep deeply, to dream fully, to be in a world not nailed down. A world of odd intuition, paradox, pockets of clarity and pockets of dark fragments that weren’t frantic but simply unordered. Chaos. The word ‘chaos’ implies pandemonium but it can be quiet, floating, peculiar. Chaos may contain both potential and unraveling without knowing which is which. Chaos is the Is Not for a mind that favors categorization and definition; for a bodymind that lives in a cognitive netherworld, this Is Not is a balm, a boon, a peace, an Is Not Is-ness.
Not exactly Wujud, but clasping its edge. Wajad.
When I taste Is Not Is-ness — the pure place that has no white light, no angels — insanity departs, fear departs, bone-deep exhaustion departs. I drink happiness.
Without it, my life is slow death.