When fragmentation occurs and the path taken bends unexpectedly, the physicality of being begins to shred little by little. On the mat, realignment occurs. Breath slows down and becomes the companion that cleans the slate. A reset.
The shades of sun and earth begin to colour the walls, glowing and warm so that the attention of the dweller turns out to the beauty that lays bare beyond the window frame when the first ray breaks through; and when the sun retires beyond the western horizon, the senses turn inwards capturing the last flutter of the firefly and breathes in the penetrating silence that holds the night still.
‘Mondays are meshed with Tuesdays
and the week with the whole year.
Time cannot be cut
with your weary scissors,
and all the names of the day
are washed out by the waters of night.
No one can claim the name of Pedro,
nobody is Rosa or Maria,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain under rain.
They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,
of Chiles and of Paraguays;
I have no idea what they are saying.
I know only the skin of the earth
and I know it is without a name.
When I lived amongst the roots
they pleased me more than flowers did,
and when I spoke to a stone
it rang like a bell.
It is so long, the spring
which goes on all winter.
Time lost its shoes.
A year is four centuries.
When I sleep every night,
what am I called or not called?
And when I wake, who am I
if I was not while I slept?
This means to say that scarcely
have we landed into life
than we come as if new-born;
let us not fill our mouths
with so many faltering names,
with so many sad formalities,
with so many pompous letters,
with so much of yours and mine,
with so much of signing of papers.
I have a mind to confuse things,
unite them, bring them to birth,
mix them up, undress them,
until the light of the world
has the oneness of the ocean,
a generous, vast wholeness,
a crackling fragrance.’
Too Many Names by Pablo Neruda, translated by Anthony Kerrigan.
The joy in a young child brimming with life and curiosity reverberates through. The tween claws through his agitation trying to mark and distinguish his disposition, trending between freedom, accountability and responsibility. The middle kid strained by conditions set by the two, tugs fiercely for his position although often inclined to be influenced by them The elderly having seen and been through much in life smile silently at the chaos knowing the messiness of it all.
Life moves along on an upbeat, not knowing what the day will bring. But the mat is always there, always ready to merge with the breath and regulate the rhythm.
