I want to write about the balance, and the equilibrium, and the delicate grace of the sun, the tensegrity, the tension of the body that moves with soft integrity, and the soreness of my body, the transverse muscles I never knew I had, and the Sutras, that do not proselytize but that remind, that offer suggestions, that give kind guidance for a path of less suffering, and the Gita, the battlefield that makes me cringe, Arjuna, conscientious objector instructed to kill by the divine voice of Krishna, the metaphor that it is, the story of the mind, of life, of the battles we face, of our sorrows, our pain, in our past, in our homes, in our world, the terrifying news of neighbor brutalizing neighbor, how the conflict is everywhere and unavoidable, how it all seems so futile, and how the wise one simply accepts the futility and yet refuses to give up, how the wise one accepts the reality, the transience, the perception that changes; but still, we are suffering, everywhere, and I’m sorry, but I can’t close my eyes to that, and so, it circles back to this, that we must live, we must live, that there is a path, and there is work, and to do the work mindfully, with kindness, with truth (that can change), with a fight to spiral forward just as our arms spiral and our torso spirals and our blood, I imagine. Spirals. It’s only this we have, and it is exquisite and terrifying, and there is the balance again.
I want to write about this, about every bit of this, more and more and more, but it’s another day of learning that will last an entire life, and I’m setting my evening intention on putting it to rest. The spinning body, the spinning mind, they need their rest.
This is a small representation of the high-quality writings you’ll find in every issue of TIFERET.
We receive no outside funding and rely on subscription sales, workshop fees, and donations to publish. If you enjoy our journal’s verbal and visual offerings, we hope you’ll consider supporting us in one of these ways.Subscribe Today to Read More!