Taya Mâ

immerse in embodied reverence

corsets and synchronicity part 6

A day of ceremony with dear ones in town from afar. Laying on the sweet earth where Baba is buried, the fragrance of the Beloved becomes my body. Laying in a hammock amidst redwood forest gardens, my student who is my teacher sings one of my songs with way more soul than I've ever sung it. Laying on an enormous sheepskin in front of an epic altar in an eco-palace I met an hour ago and which is now mine for an evening alone, I play a breath-instrument and read spiritual memoir. Laying on each other in the car en route back, we weave stories of becoming. When we stop, we are gifted a bushel of fresh harvested tomatoes and eggplants and peppers and every other nightshade there is. When we return to my home, we make more ceremony still. When I close my eyes I sleep as if it were for days. When I open them in the light it is to texts that my corset is still in their car and that the dream continues into this new day.

I head into the main house for breakfast and get blocked at the door - my housemate forgot to tell me about a session there this morning, which means I can't access my food for another hour. My low-blood-sugar-self begins to melt down. I am angry and only slightly resourceful in this state. I head to the Sunday farmers market a block away to get shwarma. She who tends the tent greets me with joy - so good to see you again my friend - and immediately unfurls into a rant about the booth next door. She asks me to complain to market leadership about the noise her paella neighbors are making - clattering pans that seem standard cooking sounds to me but which clearly grate on her to no end. No, I say, I won't complain. I feel the impact of that statement in my own body. No, I won't complain. I ask what would help her stay present and enjoying her work even amidst the noise. She talks about the importance of having positive energy to prepare the food even as she begins yelling toward the guy next door.

She turns back to me and asks me if I've been to Turkey. Yes. To Konya? Yes, to Konya, during the Sheb-i Arus, the celestial wedding / death anniversary of (Mevlana Jelal-ad Din) Rumi. You should do tours there, she says. Yes, I was there with a tour. No, she says, you should Lead tours there. Yes, I say, I was there leading a tour! She hears a noise that is imperceptible to me and becomes furious, exclaiming "It's like we are at a middle eastern market or something!" I look around, at her sign that says middle eastern food, in the center of a bustling market and laugh and say yes it is. She goes off to start yelling at the dudes next door.

I walk away, still faint from waiting too long to eat, still angry that I couldn't get into the house to cook breakfast. I consider how to respond to the situation when I get home, mostly I'm still stewing. I reflect on the shwarma scene, her choice to cultivate anger, rather than address the heart of the matter - the sensitivity inside herself - and to create what she needs to thrive.

Walking home from the market, around the corner from my house, I encounter a human-size tyrannosaurus rex on the street shuffling around with a man at it's feet, adjusting the costume. As I approach more closely, this sight is confirmed. An orange T-Rex, with a human companion and a woven basket identical to one Baba gifted me at it's side.

My prayer at Baba's grave was to listen well to the synchronicities as they come. I look again at the T-rex and laugh. I choose to drop the anger and trust the flow, and to be curious, to find the optimal gift and possibility in this morning. I'll clear out my closet and set up the hot plate so I can make breakfast whenever I need. I'll wait to respond to my housemates til I am physically resourced again, with compassion and trust.

I chill. I start writing this. My housemate comes to my door to apologize. I begin to tell her how important it is to me to have access to my food and her face falls. Instead of following that thread, I ask her about the camping trip she just returned from. She regales me with tales of dragonflies dancing on the water, sunbathing on river rocks and omg the bear that came upon them in their tent. She tells me how she dented her rental car as they were pulling away from the campsite and that she doesn't have insurance and so she spent all this morning trying to figure out how to undent her bumper and how she succeeded, with a bit of boiling water and magic. This, the dent, the bear, the magic, is why she forgot to tell me about the schedule for this morn. She shares more stories from their journey and I palpably remember the medicine of that particular river, which has been so good to me. We complete the conversation beaming at each other.

I've forgotten I'm still hungry or maybe I no longer am. I give thanks for the goodness that surrounds me and the gentleness and lush of the learnings. I'm curious what comes next.

© 2017 Taya Shere

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