The
tranquility of Hale Pule ~
The
Experience ~
“Early mornings, dark, chilly,
quiet sitting silently together
In a space kept clean and clear
Enfolding us with peaceful calm."
Life at Hale Pule
by Vanessa
I lie back floating on hand hewn wool over
bamboo and
stare at a sliver of my reflection in the
glossy leg of this
Baby Grand Fort and feel Source everywhere. How do I
find myself under here... with the little brown feet curled
'round brass, pedaling softly in
candlelight?
Pat my lean, organic, balanced belly, abundantly full
garden smile.
Washing curry and ghee from plates of
square mango,
rosewood and palm, after kneeling on stuffed
leather,
free to use fingers, the purest water
drenching
from
cobalt glass, with bowls of creamy sweet
tea, berried
breads, incense and ginger, nature infused,
recycled
compost bug love.
The never-ending chess match sits poised next to
books of Truth, next to no T.V.s., no
illusion, no drama,
know full presence in a wealth of music,
conversation,
study, and arts. Know play, tears, process,
work,
progress, laughter, little dogs, big love, nurturing
nods,
hot tubs.
Buffo toads echo over crickets under open starred sky.
Grounded to the earth, vibrating, traveling with the
fireside drumming while white owls circle.
Triple high ceilings, ocean viewed space, beeswax
flames, the flame inside fanned as wind blows in from
India. Bringing scents, shawls, herbs, and
clays. Touch
hair balms, body oils, deep tissue and
ceremony. Touch
the cold and hard places that begin to
budge. Feel
consistency, nurturing, honesty, autonomy; feel the
undoing of lifetimes…in safety.
See predawn persistence, steep
choices, The
Unknown. See surrender to discomfort, and
see
courage come surprising. Mirrors which used
to haunt,
begin to greet with Namaste in a room which is round;
here there are no corners to back in to.
Soft hair brushes, soft evening talks, body work
weavings, selfless teachings. Contemplating,
learning,
sharp searching, loosen up, tighten down, go
in,
see out. See fresh morning flowers in every
room,
smell sunlight through warm breezy windows
spilling onto a puffed perfect pastel bed -a
wood and
wool dream maker, just for me, waiting in patient
permission to be.
Surf boards and jungle shoes, wide open showers filled
with native ferns, bowls brimming with
exotic fruit,
remedies to purify and bring new life,
irritant-free
everything…condition-free love.
Gentle guidance, ego pounding, constant nudging from
the glistening eyes of a dedicated, humble, soaring soul.
My Sadhana (spiritual practice) here is difficult, exciting,
mysterious, scary, joy filled, and a
privilege.
Hope, healing and creation radiate from this place
around me and this place within.
A Yogi: In
Honor of My Teacher Myra Lewin
By Jean Marie Piserchia
Resistance
Always
A tension in my body
Breathing into resistance
I follow it through each dark
And hallowed space
For there the lessons still
reside
Follow the breath
to places long forgotten
I find the cracks
In memories now hardened
The
pressure of life
Layer after layer
Have me moved further
From the deep and holy places
Resistance
I
breathe into the darkness
To where
To
where do I follow
I
listen to the whispering sounds
Opening cracks
Now crevices
Listen
Where does it stop
Watch it disappear
Breathe again
Short gasps
Searching to regain
The rhythm
Follow the tendrils
Seeking to free
Where lies the deepest caverns
Of my body
Held in precious darkness
By the soul
I
follow the breath
Trust the paces we will go
Feel
the ancient walls
Feel the lines and patterns
Flow to form
To memories
Which have left me
Bereft of soul
Opening the cracks
I
follow the breath
Following the breath
To free the heart
From places always known.
