A couple of observations from practising KTS 40- as I sat observing a tissue box I reflected that its apparent solidity is quite misleading – there is nothing there internally but space. It seems to sit firmly on the floor – yet there must be space between it and the floor or the two would be ‘fused’ together. The box is actually, in a way, floating in space, above the floor. The tissue emerging from the box waves in the breeze. The breeze is also part of space. Sub-atomically even the “hard” edges and corners of the box are chiefly composed of space. So, the box floats in space, seems delineated from space, yet even that delineating partition is itself chiefly space. Â
What is the breeze? It seems to be nothing but space – space moving. Is the breeze an attribute of space? If not, what is it? I can’t see it, touch it. In what dimension does it arise?Â
I observe a cushion. It has a shape, it has colours. It has a softness. It is however, my labelling that calls it “cushion”, that calls the shape “oblong”, that calls the colours “paisley pattern”. Even softness is a relative concept – “softness’ compared to what? Its corners (partitions) aren’t as sharp as those of the box. They are, however, equally as full of space, just as every physical manifestation seems to be full of space. Is there, ultimately, anything but space?Â
GaynorÂ
Â
This morning I observed a wooden chair upon which sunlight was falling through the slatted back onto the seat. Asking what characteristics allowed space to be a container for this chair, what came up was that space was open to (inviting) the sunlight to bathe the polished wood, left room for the chair to roll in any direction, allowed air to flow over and through the slats, and made room in the seat for the slats and legs to connect. You mentioned how the breeze seemed an intimate of space, as it allowed the tissue to float in the air. Sunlight stepping in through the window feels like that also: waves/particles able to travel equally in vacuum, air, or glass. When I sought to look inside the wooden chair, as in the Giant Body exercises, I felt that the carcas of a tree is much less dynamic than a living body: the sap has dried, the varnish protects the sanded wood from too much interaction with the elements. Then it occurred to me that a a living tree is much more like our bodies: full of dynamic processes, changing over time, branching into its environment in ways that equally embrace the space inside and beyond its structures. I think I will now attempt a post that looks at a living tree in the spirit of the Giant Body exercises.
–Michael