From the Dance Hall to the Stretch Hall

6 days of: a ferry, 2 cars, underground, 3 airplanes, coat hat gloves & boots, many missing hours of sleep, not even a fraction of a migraine, lots of self- strokes- acknowledgements, food I’m not supposed to eat, and a long long day that started with a morning light in London and still continues with a morning light in Bangalore 12 hours later – no night in between, no sleep, so although a day has passed for me it’s still the same day.

It’s actually still the same day that I had left Akhaldands Whidbey school on the island, the retreat was done but it’s still the same day that goes on and on… And no migraines!

And in this half dream phazy reality, an employee passes by me in Bangalore airport rolling a wheel cart, and I can swear that the wheels are singing a christmas carol. Off course they are just making that friction with the floor noise, but I can swear I heard a carol in their scratch. A long journey, the end of a movement episode, the beginning of a stretch episode to come. One long day, the night became day, I did nights as days, and the wheels are yet to scratch and the wheel of movements yet to spin and the wheel of dharma yet to whirl.

I left pieces of my heart back there in Whidbey, with the teaching carol of compassion as the wheels spin around themselves in a sufi majestic containment. Awe. Dream. Sleepwalking. It seems that when I’m sleep deprived, I’m more awake then my usual “awakness”, and when I’m sleep deprived I less sleepwalk my way through.

The gates and thresholds are so thin now, between me and whatever. It has been a long long day. From movements to stretching now, from dance to a different kind of practice. Awe. The wheels carolling song is amongst the most beautiful sounds I have heard since I left the Gurdjieff multiplication music back in that dance hall in the other side of the world. It is so banal and so mundane, and 
this is exactly why it’s so beautiful.

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