The Spell Of The Sensuous
I’ve been meandering through a book.
The Spell of the Sensuous- by David Abram.
Reading slowly is not my jam, but these particular luscious words...have been with me since I sat beside the lake of reflective waters three weeks ago.
I take the paperback with me wherever I go, just in case I have a moment to turn to a page and remember.
I have fallen in love...with this book. A little in love with him as well.
With how it evokes deep feelings of delight, and sorrow, presence, passion and a desire to dive into the day with his voice whispering me towards what I know, in my body, is true.
I treasure most anything that peels a layer and reveals a knowing. A kinship regardless of space, or time.
A few weeks ago
sitting by said lake
on a 10 foot,
worn by
the sun and wind and rain,
wooden dock
With nary a human sound
other than
our splashing feet
for an hour or so
We watched and listened and became
The tiny waterway
A wiggly path
out to the bigger expanse
of the lake-- unseen
Mystery.
The water skeeters
speeding by
And the azure blue dragonfly
gently alight on my left arm
tickling the tiny hairs
to attention
And the smallish almost translucent trout
leaping into the swaying
greenish silver reeds
that the red winged blackbirds
flit in and out of.
The intimacy of those kinds of moments. A being with, and part of--the more than human world--not consuming it.
And later lying in the burnt orange hammock, tied between two smallish pines, the scent of them permeating the air--- taking in Abrams’ jaw dropping descriptions of sensuous moments--- tears welled and spilled into the folds of my ears.
Mourning dancing at the corners of my squinting eyes and curiosity beckoning me awake.
When housed outside with no internet, transactions become more infrequent. Consumption less conspicuous.
When I slip the orange kayak into the silent waters in the early next morning— intimacy abounds.
My hazel eyes seek the reflections of the stillness which makes the mirrored world real.
Pine trees shimmering both directions.
Sky or water?
I feel a tad dizzy.
My paddle laid into the water quietly propels me forward.
I pause, my ears attuned to the ripple of water that has a little mammalian head popping out.
And the rush of sound as a mallard family, seventeen ducklings, skitter by.
Then the majestic osprey overhead, in the blue morning light, arcing it’s expanding wings towards the glassy wetness.
My scapula aching. Attuned to join. Bodily immersed in the moment.
Abrams inquisitive exploration of “alphabet cultures” and what was lost for “we” humans (and also the more than human world) as words began to spread on pages. And the irony of his beautiful curiosity unfolding through writing.
The sensuous and intimate. The lack of it. And the delight as my body lifts to greet the moment.
Reflecting on what David Abram is pointing to in The Spell Of The Sensuous and Resmaa Menakem’s (My Grandmother’s Hands) talk of white culture being empty and our lack of intimacy...and me agreeing with them both.
Our cultural norms--more highlighted, in neon lights in these times.
As we distance ourselves, masking our faces, the air between us seen as deadly, and the conditioning to move away ---not towards--each other.
I am afraid of speaking of my desire for intimacy.
For the sensuous play of breathing in the air you breathe out.
Of leaning into an ancient Ponderosa and knowing it senses I am here with it.
Of watching the sunlight move over the mossy stump, slowly caressing it’s form.
Of how the more than human world offers itself, up to us, to love on.
The vivid heartrending awareness of the deadness of my interactions when they are only consumptive and transactional. How embedded those tendencies are:
Fill er up please.
Handing my credit card to a masked stranger. Nodding as I receive my vegetables.
How familiar the hollowness is when I touch it.
The conversations that don’t tread into the deep: How is it for you? Are you lonely? Can you hear my heart ache?
Is intimacy and the sensuous what we are starving for---and our habits to consume the empty room we’ve overstayed our visit in?
The despair so apparent.
Wonder upRising invites you to your senses. To be intimate with your consciousness. To share yourself with others.
It's a step.
A leap for some.
Questions.
Open ended intentional ones are a way in...to the deep recesses that don’t get seen, heard and acknowledged in a consumptive culture.
Begin today by simply noticing for a day or two your interactions.
Ask yourself---Was that transactional, consumptive, intimate? Or something else perhaps?
How am I being with this one precious life? With the soft animal of my body?
And then
Play with inviting people into intimacy with a question---
What is your greatest hope for the world?
What does your soul have to say to the world?
Has your heart been broken? Tell me, and I’ll tell you mine.
What’s the story you are telling yourself?
Ask again tomorrow. Practice asking and answering. Extending care. Being a witness. And learning how to be with the more than human world that is available everywhere.
Everywhere you go it is. Read Abrams book. You’ll get it.
The possibilities of intimacy are endless; we need to grab the branches though, with a sprig of wonder and a few fronds of mystery, magic, and imagination.
The sensuous world is there waiting. Perhaps with bated breath...for us to enter.
Love,
Carol