August | 2018 | The Seed

A few weeks ago, at the start of the summer, really, I went with my wife and a friend to a special event where we got to lay in a dark room and listen to a musician make crystal bowls and glass objects sing. I know, I know — depending on how interested or open you are to “woo woo” types of activities, this event may seem like either the best or the worst way to spend a Friday evening. Believe me, I get it. But, even if you’re not into the energy of life, letting go of things that don’t serve you, and opening up space in your energy field for magic, it’s still nice. After all, you get to lay down and rest — and the music’s not bad.

That said, I was there laying on a couple of stacked yoga mats with a bolster and some blankets, making myself comfortable to enjoy this …experience. It was my first time at this type of event, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would it be weird? Would it be cool? Would my dead grandparents or future children come to me and tell me something deep? Would I just be uncomfortable laying on the floor for 90 minutes without a mattress?

The musician found that nice balance of alert and playful as she greeted us and helped us settle in, the lighting soft and dim, and I felt more comfortable on the floor than I thought I would. When the musician’s set began I immediately started to relax and breathe more deeply. The bowls and glass contraptions made a soft, resonating tone that filled the room floor to ceiling. I felt my body vibrate softly, too — not uncomfortable, but a distinct, non-me vibration. It was was weird and it was cool and I settled into a deep stillness to absorb the changing tones and volumes and — kind of like night tennis — to use my other senses to tune into the music’s movements as the musician walked the room with her instruments. I didn’t see any ghosts or visions, but my whole body and even my mind began to relax and take in sensation rather than words. Ah…

At some point, I did have to shift around on my mat and that’s when I noticed it: snoring. There were about a dozen of us in the L-shaped room laid out in a variety of angles and postures and I couldn’t quite tell where the sound was coming from but it was most definitely a snore. At first I was annoyed but then I re-relaxed and reflected. Maybe someone needed the rest and this was their only chance during the week to have that time to just be still, with no outside demands on them. The snoring flagged then faded away. Back to the singing, sounds resonating, the vibrations and energy. Then it happened again. More snoring. But from somewhere else in the room. And while that person sawed away, another person joined in. Now snoring was in stereo!

It continued on and off for the rest of the session, ending with at least one snort when the music itself ended. As soon as stereo snoring began, I decided to have a sense of humor and imagine that the snores were part of the sound experience, an extra flourish to the spiritually healing soundscape. But truly, it made me wonder — what was it about this setting or this experience that put multiple people to sleep? Were they so rundown or overworked that this was their only place to find rest? That in itself seems problematic, even sad. Imagine — having to go somewhere outside your home and pay just to guarantee yourself 90 minutes of uninterrupted rest. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe they were unable to be present in a relaxed body — they were so unaccustomed to being simultaneously awake and relaxed that once they reached a certain point of relaxation their minds just checked out and they slipped away. Maybe the healing they were looking for was there and accessible for them, but they just couldn’t be awake for it, they couldn’t be present and clear for it — whatever the reason or barrier.

And that led me to think about myself — where am I asleep in my life? What are the experiences that I’ve had or often have where I’m not present or clear for it? And why is that? Am I physically exhausted? Am I stressed or anxious about things that are beyond my control? Am I holding on to old pain, limiting ideas or ideals that keep me from taking in and absorbing what’s around me, keep me from growing or changing, keep me fuzzy and unfocused? And if so what can I do to get clear, be alert and playful?

Each of those questions deserves a lot of reflection and action, so I can’t answer all of those here and now, but I can say that time and space, quiet and stillness are key tools that help me clear out. And I guess the unexpected, like snoring, can’t hurt with keeping me alert and playful.

this summer is the summer of tennis for my wife and me. we don’t play too much, maybe once every 10 days, but that’s about 300% more frequently than we’ve ever played in a summer. that said, a couple of weeks ago, we walked over to our neighborhood tennis courts to play. we had waited a little longer than we should have, since it was already after seven o’clock when we left the house and that pre-twilight phase was quickly approaching. but that didn’t stop us from playing.

past the playground, the sprinklers, the field house, the basketball court, we walked to the farthest court, the one bordered by the busier street right next to the men’s softball league game, put our racquet covers and ball canisters and bags next to the net, and strode out to the baselines to hit back and forth. as we chased the balls and swung our racquets the sun set fully and dusk fell. the softball game continued behind me, with the sharp thud of bat hitting ball, infield sand crunching under feet, and yelps and claps when a runner made a go for a stolen base. the field lights and street lamps threw enough light for us to keep playing, although the ball would disappear from view for a couple of seconds on its way over the net, lost in the glare. regardless, we played on. and I began to notice that I was playing tennis differently, not just with my sight and my body following along, but with my whole body — or at least more parts of my body — attentive and alive to the ball. I was looking intently for the ball when it disappeared into the glare, but I was also listening for it, almost trying to feel the wind of it, feel it bounce on the court. sometimes I would just run in the direction of where I imagined the ball would bounce and trusted that when I swung it would be there.

people and their shadows walked by along the busy street beside us, on the sidewalk behind my wife, their shapes getting darker and denser as the night drew in more deeply. the ball began to glow in the little light that it caught, and disappeared just as quickly. my wife and I took a break for water and considered stopping, but we thought why not just a few more?

and there was strange magic in our night tennis. we played as shadows, in the shadows, running after the shadow of a ball, using our senses and imaginations, not caring about the outcome, the night inviting us into another way of playing.

The Seed

Month: August 2018

singing or asleep?

night tennis