Today: Moment of peace. An hour or a day or a week of solitude. What was the quality of your breath? The state of your mind? How did you get there?
I attended a marvelous yoga class in August that I’ll never forget. It was at the start of what went on to be a fantastic weekend. I blogged about it at the time and will share my words now. I felt visited by the spirit in a way that happens to me rarely but always powerfully. It made me think more about topics I find very interesting: the genesis of creativity, the home of the soul, the ways that emotion can rise in us, unbidden, and almost knock us over with the sheer force of feeling.
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Last night in yoga class the teacher (wonderful, jivamukti-trained Alanna) spent a while talking about sound, vibrations, e=mc2, listening, and being open to the universe. She asked us to think about someone who could benefit from our being more present, from our listening more carefully. I thought immediately of Grace. No hesitation: her little face with tangly hair falling in her eyes popped into my head.
At the end of practice Alanna turned the lights off and did a little bit of singing with the room lit only by candles. I would not normally describe this as my thing, but somehow I was porous to it last night and found it very moving. We did a call-and-response chant of Om Nama Shivaya (again, not my thing, but Alanna was singing it rather than chanting it, with acoustic guitar accompaniment … really just a hop away from some of my favorite music!). She asked us to put our hands over our heart and to think of the person we had dedicated our practice to. Tears streamed down my face as I imagined Gracie sitting next to me. My awareness of my own limitations was a physical ache, and I felt the desperate desire to be a more present, patient mother for her running through my veins in a visceral way.
I was reminded, then, of an experience I had while pregnant with Grace. When I remembered it I can’t believe I’ve spent so many hours whining about how her name was going to be Eloise. I was 20 weeks pregnant and at a new prenatal yoga class (that I actually never returned to, because there was a little too much breathing through our chakras and not enough downward dog). After a long shivasana, the instructor asked us to “go inside” (what does this mean, really?) and to “feel our baby” (and yes, I rolled my eyes here). We were supposed to listen for a single word, a message from our child, and to share it with the room. I was skeptical and, frankly, trying to figure out how I could leave the room without getting busted. And then this happened: a voice in my head said, clearly, “grace.” Her name has always been Grace.
Incidentally, these two experiences, separated by a wide gulf of years and many, many not-very-spiritual moments, make me think of Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED talk. Yes, I am biased, because I love Elizabeth Gilbert. But still. I find her premise fascinating and compelling: that creativity should be thought of as an external force that visits us (with frustrating inconsistency) rather than something inherent to an individual. This, she posits, is a way to release some of the pressure to be inspired every single day. She also supports her theory with interesting data points from Big Name Philosophers.
This notion is central to a Philip Pullman’s extraordinary trilogy, His Dark Materials (which I could not recommend more highly). In Pullman’s beautiful books, both quick, enthralling reads and dense explorations of religion, identity, and the soul, children are accompanied by “daemons,” companions who are an external embodiment of their creativity. When we are children, our daemons shift between the shapes of various animals. As adults, they take a firmer form and settle into their final shape. Pullman seems to claim that children are comfortable with the fluidity of creativity and identity, and that as we get older this relationship grows more static, the exchange less easy. I find this idea fascinating and it clearly has the same root as Elizabeth Gilbert’s argument about artistic inspiration and whether its locus is internal or external to the artist himself.
If you agree with Gilbert and Pullman, which I think I do, I guess whatever we believe that spirit is visited me last night. And reminded me, in no uncertain terms, that Gracie deserves better from me.
Creativity as external force. Identity as fluid. Compelling ideas here… I am particularly struck by the reference to children and how they are more comfortable with the transience of creativity and identity. I think this is very much true. I think children – in their innocence and unsullied perspective – are the best teachers of how to be present.
Great post.
Elizabeth Gilbert and the Philip Pullman trilogy!? Two favorites of mine. I love thinking about them together.
I hadn't thought of the daemons in exactly that way before, but I like your take on it – the "outward embodiment" of a child's creativity. And how interesting in Pullman's world how devastating, unfathomable really, it is to look upon a child without a daemon.
This tale brought tears to my eyes. So beautiful. I love how you described yourself as "porous" – that's exactly it. I too love both Gilbert and the Pullman trilogy, which I read years ago and still think of frequently. And I'll state that (for me, at least) the biggest challenge of creativity is in remembering to let it be itself and not try to capture it, box it in, compel it, or control it. Freedom, even freedom of self, can be such a damn scary thing.
I love this: that creativity should be thought of as an external force that visits us (with frustrating inconsistency) rather than something inherent to an individual – yes, like something that passes through us; we are vehicles and contribute, but it sweeps through.
wow…so moving…i feel like i have peace and can breathe more deeply just reading this post…i'm fascinated by a lot of the philosophies you referred to (almost got a masters degree in existentialism) and am always torn between exploring those sides of myself and "being" in the moment with my children. you seem to strike the balance so well. thank you for sharing such intimate and meaningful experiences.
OK, the more I visit your blog, the more I feel we are somehow on the same wavelength.
I've been meaning to get my butt back into yoga these past days. And this is another sign to do so. Already. Thank you for the gentle reminder. (Yoga and walking are my 2 favorite forms of exercise. Really, is there anything else? š
And again, I was recommending Pullman's Dark Materials series to my sister just the other day. Truly! (I read it back in 2000, right after finishing grad school and it had a huge impact on me. Huge.)
PS: I agree with Aidan, that our children are truly our best teachers. I am reminded each day, through them, to be truly present.