an open apology to a field of wheat

Wheat. You’re beautiful and I had no idea just how much. I apologize because every day for I don’t know how many months now, I passed by you as I walked along the greenhouses and fields with shovel in hand to empty out the sand from the stream that flows into the pond, or with a wool blanket to lie down on the grass at sunset, coloring pictures of butterflies and iguanas while the clouds graze pink and white across the ever darker blue of the summer evening sky. Weeding around the strawberries and zucchini, I didn’t notice if your stalks were straight or bent by the pathway of dogs or unknown forces during the night. I had no idea about your lightness and softness when you are piled and ready to be tied, or how pleasurable it is to take you in my arms and squeeze you tight with the twine lightly burning my hand with the friction, wrapping you with it and pushing your stalks together to compact the bundle.

Now that I think about it, I realize that you sincerely tried to capture my attention, growing there in silence and appreciating the beauty around you, the vastness of human life with all its distraction and technology, hunger and emotive scenes, laughter and moments of purity and creation. With your color so creme beige and neutral, you seemed like just a passive background to me. The fire of the night, the effort of the day. You witnessed everything and now that we are harvesting you, you speak to me, letting me know that you know who we are, giving yourself over with zero resistance to the scythe that anyhow needs to be sharpened. Silent gift of nature, humble friend, now I see you and I thank you.

Frumento. Sei bellissimo e non avevo idea quanto. Ti chiedo scusa perché ogni giorno da non so quanti mesi già ti ho attraversato mentre camminavo lungo le serre ed i campi verso il laghetto con la pala in mano per svuotare la sabbia dal ruscello che dà al laghetto, o con una coperta di lana per sdraiarmi sul prato al tramonto e colorare disegni di farfalle e iguane mentre le nuvole pascolano rosa e bianche attraverso il blu sempre più scuro della sera estiva.

gratitude in blue

I am grateful for the sky. I am grateful for the sea. if I were to continue writing only about the blue things I am grateful for, I would be sitting here for two days anyway. I am grateful every time I see you, every time I salute you, the salutation – the Damanhurian one, very upright and spiritual, hands together, bowing, yes I am here, I am here (con te e per te) with you and for you and you are with me and for me. thanks, until next time! and those that are more informal and out of control, hugging each other so hard that the ribs cave in and I can’t breathe. I am grateful for breaths, the ones after ecstatically tight squeezing hugs, and the long, slow, pranic ones, and the last one before sleep, mixing in with the colors behind the eyes and the signs that flow faster than memory, the one first thing in the morning that reawakens the lungs and expands like rays of sunlight. wait am I writing about hugs or breaths? or eyes. salutation in silence, my favorite, connecting with each other in a gaze, without words, loosing ourselves in the sea of luminous souls, solar explosion temporarily trapped in human form. we’re so funny, we human beings. immense! more immense than we can imagine, containers of entire universes that shine through windows a centimeter in diameter. I am grateful for eyes that are deep as the sea, as the sky, blue, pure and every color winking an eternal code.

sono grata per il cielo. sono grata per il mare. se continuassi a scrivere solo sulle cose blu per le quale sento gratitudine, starò qui due giorni comunque…

33

33. changed everything. I understand now, something I didn’t get before. though any kind of inner transformation cannot be adequately expressed with words, not even with poetry, it just touches the surface. a collar around my neck has melted and finally, I breathe, breathe, breathe, still, again…

the week of my birthday Burning Man Photo of the People Damanhurian New Year’s closes out with purifying water descending from the sky, now in a trickle, now in a spectacular outpour, then gentle again, like the clear eyes that gaze at me and ambient music deep in the night. fine, okay. the water equilibrates all the fiery fire, heating and burning, speaking with the gods through the patterns of flame in movement, fire that ignites fervor, passion, mixed with a pinch of fear. the brilliant singing sun, luminous even in the night. so little sleep, but hey, we can sleep later. later! afterwards. after we have colored the whole sky with the most lucid blue of materialized dreams and the deep violet of unconditional love, art in every gesture and word, every Heartfelt Touch®, every game risked and played full on. You and me, we are the world. and in the morning, only a vague sketch of dreams, archiving and solidifying memories, saturated splendid traces of abunDance and generosity, familiar territories, conversations already traced. gratitude expressed through the flight of a bird reflected by the stars.

33. ha cambiato tutto. capisco adesso, qualcosa che non ho capito prima…

The joy of receiving gratitude from those touched by Damanhur

One of the reasons that life at Damanhur is so immensely satisfying, even though so intensely demanding, is the gratitude that comes back to us at unexpected moments, from friends and guests who come here and connect. Here is a message from my dear friend Safed/Tamera whom I met while camping together at the Heebeegeebee Healers at Burning Man. She reflects on Damanhur after an initial visit last April…

“I feel the time has come for me to express my gratitude for my experience at Damanhur.  Due to my connection to you and the general level of love and respect that you command, I was treated as a revered guest in a way that felt very inclusive and connecting.  Distinguished from the Damanhurians and the New Lifers, I still felt a part of something.  I discovered new manifestations of the spirit and devotion and expanded my worldview about what a spiritual life and community means.  I was awestruck at the sheer volume of the “work” that Damanhurians have produced and do produce, the magnificence of the Temples and the labyrinths attested to that in a visual way but there was a sense of something deeper, a drive to search deep and then out of that searching to produce, to create, to express the depths of the being.”