Dear Friend,
The ringing in my ears continues, but this morning it’s more to do with the concert Chiara and me attended last night. The hall filled up just before the main act took to the stage. We’d found a great spot at the front, when a guy about my build elbowed his way in and stood directly in front of me, shouldering Chiara to the side.
He stood with a hand on one hip, elbow a few centimetres from Chiara’s face. My view was now either the back of his head or I could peer over his shoulder. He seemed to have zero spacial awareness. Chiara is petite. I’m feeling protective. I’m resisting the situation. The false self elbows its way in, cuing up some juicy judgemental thinking.
But you know, there are people with limited awareness of personal space. It doesn’t make them the bad guy.
If I have a problem with someone, then it’s my problem, not theirs.
I sink into acceptance and the guy starts to melt. The way he’s so intent on being close to his friends. It’s a Thursday night and he’s at a gig. An artist we both like. The bulk of his form becomes lighter and lighter and I feel love for him.
Space, both figuratively and literally opens up around us and within me. The whole thing is my deal. The false self retreats, conserving its energy for the next attack on peace. The willingness to take one hundred percent responsibility for our experience, has its rewards.
Earlier yesterday I’m sitting behind a desk in dance studio. I’m operating the camera. I have clipboard and a pen. There are three of us, auditioning kids for the school musical. We’re putting on ‘Legally Blonde’.
It blows my mind that kid after kid can sing pitch perfect. Some kids are so attached to the role they want, the anxiety strangles their voices. Free of the nerves, their voices would soar.
We’ve a few candidates for the lead roles. It’s been a long day. We’re ready to go home. The last kid on our list tells us there’s one other kid waiting. She doesn’t know her. It’s a kid with curly hair.
She’s not on our list.
It’ll take a few minutes so we say okay.
The kid pirouettes into the studio, all smiles, light as a feather. We ask her which role she’s thinking of. She shrugs, doesn’t know.
She’s happy with any role.
She makes this gesture as if she’s drawing energy into herself.
“Just getting into role,” she says.
Then bam.
There’s our lead.
But can she sing?
We cue up the backing track and our hairs are up, the air electric.
“Thank you” she says as she floats out the door.
The ability to let go of our desires and be in the moment.
Ironically it’s the clinging that pushes what we want away.
Our lessons come to us.
It’s just started raining. The rhythm of the rain is music.
In a few minutes I’ll be cycling through grimy wet crowded London roads.
Letting go.
No future moment to get to.
Just this.
The clocks tick.
Nowhere to go.
Till tomorrow
Love
Mikey
That’s a lovely story.