by meghanleborious | Jul 14, 2015 | Notes on Practice, Uncategorized
My morning investigations were delayed today because I had to continue to work on a solution for how to access money. When I did get to the sea, it was later in the morning and I wondered if the beach would be overrun.
The little artwork I had created the day before, high up on a cliff, was a dim ghost of itself, having been washed away by the crashing waves of high tide. As the sun was higher, my favorite spot was not in the shade of the cliff, but was in full sun, so I moved a short way back down the beach until I found an alcove enclosed by trees and backed up to a green-covered cliff. Several bright purple and orange crabs scampered toward their holes; and I was nervous, not sure what exactly they were. They definitely looked like crabs, but they could possibly be scorpions, right? I know that they have scorpions here, too. Brightly colored animals are often poisonous—a fact I learned on a nature show at some point. I am not proud to say that I covered the many holes in the alcove before I started dancing, with the hope that I would not be ambushed. I fell in love with the site in stages, as I began to move, despite my fear of scorpions.
Writing now, inside, as the insects won the battle and I finally gave up on the balcony after dark, heavy rain is pelting the metal ceiling. Insects call out periodically. I sip from a coffee cup full of white wine that came from a local grocery store in a screw-top bottle. A little glass with a tea light candle sits next to me on a table made of varnished driftwood. I have to move carefully, as the table base is also made of driftwood; and the table is extremely imbalanced.
As I started to move my feet through the sand, I pushed several rocks and small logs to the side. A harmony repeated itself again and again, and I hummed it out loud. There was a little hill up into the alcove from the larger beach and I experimented with letting my weight rise, fall and curve on the sandy incline. At some point, I stopped humming. Words temporarily fell away. I moved with no urgency, turning back and forth between the sea, the trees, and the tall stone, green-covered cliff.
In Staccato, I stomped and jumped, hoping to scare the purple and orange creatures into staying underground. I felt pulled into Lyrical, but endeavored to stay within the frame of a 5Rhythms wave and continued into Staccato. Sharp exhalations fueled the movements, and I again experimented with the narrative journey of ocean waves, and with moving up and down the small incline. I felt connected to the trees and plants and experienced them as tender and resolute—feeling a small welling of tears, even. For a few short minutes, I entered the tornado of Chaos—losing, briefly, the orientation of my body—bouncing and whirling around in the little alcove. Chirping insects and trilling birdcalls lead me to the next rhythm of Lyrical, which had been calling me all along. Stillness found me absorbing and responding to the energy of the green plants and trees around me and letting the calls of the chirping insects and birds enter into my experience fully.
For four years, I wrote a poem a day (almost every day!) I wrote them all in journals, on paper; and at some point I got overwhelmed with the number of them and let the practice go. I decided that while I am in Costa Rica, I would resume the poems. Here is the first:
The jungle is alive with whistles and trills.
Yesterday I danced with the circling shadow of a massive, gliding bird
The tide was lowering, else
In the same place
I would have been submerged and pummeled
By waves against the high-rock cliffs.
July 9, Nosara, Costa Rica
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
by meghanleborious | Jul 13, 2015 | Notes on Practice, Uncategorized
![driftwood]](https://notesonpractice.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/driftwood.jpg?w=300)
Aspects of today were grueling, but in the morning I found a more inspired connection to the 5Rhythms than I have experienced since I arrived in Costa Rica. After I dropped Simon off at camp, I headed to the closest beach, Playa Pelada, parking the golf cart I have been using to travel the dusty, torn up streets, and walking to the beach’s farthest reaches. High tide was just receding when I arrived, and the spot I have come to favor over the last few days was out of reach.
I felt, again, languid, and wondered if I should consider a second cup of tea for breakfast the next day. I found a ring of driftwood—of drift trees, actually—that had been deposited by a recent high tide. It was awesome to consider the power of the water that moved such massive trunks, and many of them were smooth and gnarled, the sea having worn their texture away to reveal their elemental forms, their many unique twists, swells, forks and straight sections.
I endeavored to enter Flowing, dancing in the circle formed by the trees. Before long, I was climbing onto the trunks to dance and move, noticing my fe
Oh my god! The bugs as I sit writing are unbelievable! A four-inch long praying mantis just dive-bombed me.
Ahem! Noticing my feet as I stepped onto, over and under the driftwood. Before long, I was in the sand between the trees, moving in inspired circles. I realized that along with dancing near them, and with them, I could also respond to their gestures—some contorted, some straight, some
Agh! Oh my god! Another beetle in my hair. There must be an easier way. I just put a baseball hat on. There is no where to sit but at the table on the open balcony—tonight it is raining heavily and gazing out into the starless night, there is only a black void. The insects are particularly aggressive, perhaps wanting to escape the rain.
I gave up on the balcony. Now I am sitting inside on the bed, my son crashed out beside me. There is still an alarming number of insects inside, but it is a considerable improvement. The only problem is that it is difficult for me to write in bed. I don’t think properly.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Contándoles de la mañana—telling you the story of my morning. As I started to move with the gestures of the driftwood pieces, I became increasingly engaged. The driftwood was partially buried in the sand, and did not move at all, as I would expect fallen trees in the forest to move as I walked on them. I moved over, under and around the pieces, but also worked around in circles, delighting in the feeling of smooth wood and yielding sand. I was investigating the ground as a changing, responsive, unpredictable thing, rather than the perfectly flat floor I am accustomed to.
Moving through the wave, before long, Staccato arrived with its sharp exhalations and energetic expressiveness. I was easy in Staccato, and again considered the directed force of the waves as they carved the cliffs around me. I experimented with some expressive movements telling that story, rushing forward, swelling and crashing or hitting. I found myself, predictably, deep in the hips. Next, I moved into Chaos—removing my hair elastic and rolling and tossing my head, looping around the space of the sand between the driftwood trees—again, easy yet energetic. Lyrical was pure delight—pura vida, even, a phrase Costa Rican people say often. I rushed and soared, again climbing up onto the driftwood, with high, suspended kicks and long, dramatic steps.
Stillness arrived suddenly when I walked out onto a driftwood trunk that was four feet off the ground at its extremity. I froze, my arms raised for balance, and took in the sky, the sea, some distant beachgoers and the variable wind as I balanced there for a few moments.
After this lovely little wave, I investigated the beach where the tide had further receded. I found another good spot and spent an hour or so moving with yoga poses—both on the wet sand and on a smooth section of the cliffs.
From there, I moved into sitting meditation. First I seated myself in a smooth perch on the cliffs. As I sat, small bits of shaly rock scampered down the cliff and startled me when they hit my back. Eventually, I moved to a different spot in the sand, where I would be safe in case any larger rocks dislodged from the overhang above me. After a peaceful, patient sit, I created a small artwork, photographed it, then began the journey back.
On the way home, I discovered that I did not have my bankcard. I did not freak out, assuming I would find it at home somewhere. I did not. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how to access money, rather than writing (which is why I am contending with these gigantic bugs while trying to write now). To make the day harder, there is a major road construction site right in the middle of everywhere I need to go. The golf cart, which I call the carrito, bumps emphatically along; and we are totally exposed to the life of the street and to the astonishing quantity of dust that moving vehicles kick up—to the point that all of the plants near the roadside are visibly laden with dust.
The evening was more fun, Simon and I met with friends and, amongst other adventures, enjoyed ourselves at the beach as the sun set, leaving quickly after as the sky rumbled and was torn across with lightning. We arrived home before it started to downpour and enjoyed a traditional meal, cooked on a hotplate and served on the balcony until the giant bugs drove us inside.
July 7, 2015, Nosara, Costa Rica
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
by meghanleborious | Jul 5, 2015 | Notes on Practice
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
Today I danced the 5Rhythms by myself at the farthest reach of Playa Pelado in Nosara, Costa Rica. I am here in Costa Rica for a month, but just arrived yesterday, so everything is new and is an adventure. The place I am staying (we are staying—I am here along with my five-year-old son) is on a mountain, overlooking the ocean. It is remote from the town and beaches, so I needed to figure out a vehicle. The best I could do was an electric golf cart, so we are bumping around town, trying to hold our breathe when a faster vehicle comes along and kicks up dust.
I walked north from Playa Pelada today. Before long, I reached a cabo, and couldn’t walk any further. I decided it was a perfect place to dance, and found a spot in the shade of a high, wave-carved cliff. From there, I moved in and out of the sunlight, drawing huge loping circles in the sand with my feet. The only music was my own occasional humming of a song stuck in my head from my son’s favorite playlist, “Let it Go,” and the sound of crashing waves.
In Flowing, I loved the feeling of my feet dragging in the sand and that the sand touched all the parts of the bottom of my feet—in a way that they do not on a flat dance floor. I noticed that my feet were making an expressive drawing of Flowing in the sand, as I moved in open, linking circles, working with gravity and momentum.
I strongly considered staying exclusively in Flowing for the day, but realized another calling. The waves, at first, seemed to typify Flowing, but as I stayed and moved, I realized that the sheer cliffs and rough, jagged rock had been slammed into shape by millions of very powerful waves. With this realization, I moved into a languid Staccato that picked up energy and expression as I exhaled sharply, telling myself it would be best to stay in the shade, but needing more space as I explored my body’s response to the landscape—to the ocean, the cliffs, the rocks, the jungle plants, the soaring raptors and the distant, hazy horizon. The drawing my feet made in Staccato was as beautiful as the Flowing drawing they made. I moved to a different spot before too long, or it would have been eradicated. It featured powerful, directed lines in the sand, often with deeper heel digs, and sharp angles, just the way I had been moving.
An interloper appeared, someone on a hike from Playa Pelada. I grew shy. I paused and took out my camera to take pictures of the Flowing and Staccato drawings on the sand. I got back into motion, bashfully, then moved into Chaos regardless of my wish to be invisible to humans at that moment. The drawing my feet made in the sand during Chaos looked like the sand was ripped up. Truthfully, the drawings my feet made in Flowing and Staccato probably would have looked the same if I hadn’t stopped at a certain point and moved to a different place on the sand, but I enjoyed creating some kind of visual representation of the rhythms, even if they were partly contrived.
After Chaos, I sort of trailed into yoga-influenced movements. I was happy to let myself move however felt good. I note that that is one of the biggest arguments for group practice, however, that helps us to retain the form and the discipline of practice. I think part of my investigation this month will be how to sustain my own practice individually, and for now that will mean attending to each of the 5Rhythms in sequence once I start a wave.
When I was at a Buddhist retreat center in Vermont, I danced the 5Rhythms every day alone in the woods—in concert with the sun, the wind, the trees, the spirits of the tradition lineage, and the spirits of the land. The woods revealed many secrets to me; and this period in my own practice offered me insights that probably would not have been uncovered in a group practice situation.
I was mildly concerned that I might become trapped by high tide, so I moved a little way down the beach to practice sitting meditation. I made a mental note to check the tide charts before my next excursion. Sitting, I found my mind active. Little crabs scampered around. Jungle plants behind me moved with the breeze, rustling. Yellow leaf-like butterflies wandered erratically through my field of vision.
In the evening, my son and I played in the waves. It was high tide and the waves were impressive, but many little kids played in the waves near the water’s edge. I stayed close to my son, but at one point a wave knocked him over and I couldn’t put my hands on him for several seconds. When I grabbed him, he was disoriented. I don’t think he would have been able to right himself without help. I realized how easy it would be to lose him, for a wave to sweep him away from me. My heart chilled, though I tried to appear calm. I explained that we don’t have to fear the ocean, but that we certainly must respect it, and insisted that he hold my hand after that as we let ourselves be pummeled by the last traces of the waves which had already broken many meters out.
I am living the threads of many stories: of traveling alone with my small son for a month, of returning to a country that gave me many stories to cherish when I first visited it fifteen years ago, of political realities, of my own emotional obstacles and talents. Within this forum, I promise to keep the story focused on practice, but I hope you will bear with me if other threads drift in.
July 3, 2015, Nosara, Costa Rica
My morning investigations were delayed today because I had to continue to work on a solution for how to access money. When I did get to the sea, it was later in the morning and I wondered if the beach would be overrun.![driftwood]](https://notesonpractice.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/driftwood.jpg)
