Real

Photo: George Angus

When doing stone balancing I wish to be as open and receptive as possible. I do not want to force my ideas or wishes onto the structure taking shape under my hands. It is at root a meditative, creative process with amazement and surprise important elements as well.

During our monthly Quiet Day last Saturday, the rock pile I erected down at the river was done against that backdrop. I did not venture far from the big rock that acted as the platform for my structure in search of stones – maybe 5 metres in any direction. 

It’s difficult to describe how you know when you have gathered enough stones. I do not count them and do not look for any particular shape. When I feel I have enough I simply stop and start building. And I trust that these rocks came together and that they will settle in such a manner on top of each other that all will be used and what will eventually stand there in the river bed will be a unique expression of this collection.

The rocks from last Saturday weren’t the easiest of participants. Twice my pile toppled over, to such an extent that I had to look for the stones where they fell into the stream and start all over again.

While building you hold the stone that you are about to place onto the structure that’s already standing soft but firmly. Somehow you have to hold and release simultaneously, to determine whether it is going to cause the pile’s collapse. And often, on discovering that it is unstable, you have to make the smallest of adjustments in any direction to find the exact balancing point. Obviously, the higher you go the more intricate it becomes.

It is deeply satisfying when you place the last rock from your collection on top and the structure remains in tact.

I had the feeling last Saturday that my pile was very delicate. You have no idea for how long it will remain standing or what will cause its downfall. Fortunately I was able to take a few pictures and when I sat down in the sun on a nearby rock a few minutes later, a strong breeze sent the whole structure toppling. All that remained of the 9-stone little tower were a few scattered remnants.

Photo: George Angus

In a number of ways stone balancing acts as a meditative focus:

·       While busy with it you are totally in the moment, conscious. You look and experience intuitively. There is an intimate connection with your surroundings and nature.

·       You discover that despite all your efforts, you still want to be successful and that you want to erect something that will testify to your skills and talents. It will be evidence of the fact that you are quite capable and spiritually deep. 

·       You question your motives. Why build something like that in the first place? It doesn’t have any practical use. Do I want to leave a footprint, a testimony that I was here? And for how long must it stand for us to be satisfied that the message came through? If there are only a few scattered stones on a big rock in a very remote river bed, how will people know what I’ve accomplished? 

·       Would I have been disappointed if I didn’t have pictures to show for my efforts? Does something only have meaning if I have something to show for it? Did an experience only occur when I have pictures, a Facebook post, or mementoes of it?

On attending our final Living School Symposium  in Albuquerque last August, we had an extraordinary experience a few days beforehand. The timing of the event was very significant.

Matilda and I were traveling with our two friends Cheryl and Jonny from Colorado Springs to the Symposium which was to start the Monday. On going through Santa Fe a friend of Cheryl’s living there arranged for us to attend the annual Corn Dance of the Kewa (formerly known as Santo Domingo) Pueblo on the Saturday. The pueblo is about halfway between Santa Fe and Albuquerque.

The Pueblo peoples are 19 Native American groups in the Southwestern United States who share common agricultural, material and religious practices. The Keva Pueblo’s Corn Dance, held at the beginning of August every year goes back to time immemorial. For this festival the scattered members of the tribe – dentists, security guards, Harvard professors, teachers – come together from all over the US, dress up in their traditional garments and dance the ancient dance. And through that they rediscover their common bond in the seed that unites earth to sky.

Hundreds of American and international visitors and spectators sat on every conceivable chair, wall, bench and rooftop to get the best view of the dances on the central plaza. And each and every one of those  spectators respected the wish of the Puebloans: no pictures or recordings, please. This is their sacred dance and they keep their traditions alive through a veil of mystery.

For that reason we had nothing to post on Facebook and there was no sound recording of the rhythmic singing. 

Did it really happen and have we been there? Yes. 

Many months later I still walk across the white sand under a scorching New Mexico sun and enter the cool of the old adobe church. I sit down at the table in the humble home where dishes of beans and corn and sweet puddings are served to guests and dancers coming in from the heat for a short break. I still hear the drums and the rattles around their ankles and arms.

When does something happen to us? What makes an experience real?

While pondering this next to the remains of my toppled stone structure, I hear the primal call of Blue Cranes somewhere overhead. I look up and see 9 of them flying in perfect formation high above me. For a very short period I follow them and then, as if to accentuate a message, they fly straight into the sun and out of sight.

George