Many years ago, we attended an art exhibition in one of London's galleries. It was pre-four footed companions, when we used to meet up and explore town seeking out pieces of inspiration; moments scattered between our daily visit to a shala to practice with our divine teachers. Moments of calm in the immense, hedonistic pulse that is London. So many moons ago....
An exhibition of pitch black. A tiny, darkened room with a huge screen displaying a large countdown.
Benches allowed us to sit in the space awaiting artistic genius to fill the blank canvas.
We didn't know what to expect. The room was humid and we sat elbow to elbow with strangers (something that post-pandemic seems almost dream-like now; we crave to be close to strangers...hoping for moments like that to be permitted again soon).
Eventually, the countdown reached 0:00:00 and the screen came to life.
And it was...stunning.
Wind seemed to be visual. The soundless now audible.
It was so simple.
Yet so heart-fillingly, earth-shatteringly abundant on every level.
People sat, observing the rhythms of reeds dancing to the soundless, invisible caress of the shapeshifting air around them.
And, somehow the room felt cooler. Bodies fell into a deep state of calm.
And the world opened up. Just unravelled, right at the surface. So you could drink it all in through breath. And be so blissed out at the joy of being alive, of being witness to this beautiful planet.
The collective energy-body of many strangers, sat so close in this physical discomfort just got shattered aside. We seemed bound together, lulled by the beauty of the dance of nature. I don't think one person left that room for the entirety of the screenplay. It lasted an eternity. All in sudden realisation of the extraordinariness of the ordinary.
We each of us, left that room abundant. Light. And full of light.
Below is our attempt to replicate that moment. If I could sit in a darkened box, shoulder to shoulder with strangers from across the globe, in an overbearing heat, in the old smoke that was our home....then maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to scoop that memory and elevate it to the surface of my skin. And be so happy in a pre-covid, pre-overthinking, completely innocent, yet experienced state of being. When the visceral feeling of life is so potent, so touchable and in focus, when everything is a possibility, and the imagination runs wild.
Life is so earth-shatteringly beautiful, isn't it? All the parts; the light and shimmery, and the shards that cut deep like glass.
Would not change a thing. Especially the skin I'm in.
Memories are bound deep. And moments like this stir them.
Play light. Love.