practicing focus, pt. 2 – being controlled by circumstances

The first part of yesterday was wonderful – I took some time just for myself to think and plan, without any sort of distractions. I was happy to see how much you can do and how well you can feel when you choose how to define those circumstances within your reach (and it’s a lot more than we think). However, in the afternoon my zen-like state of mind was completely shattered.

We were supposed to give a very short tango performance as part of one lecture on South American culture, but the entire preparation process in the past few days was a continuous test of nerves – we would be coming to rehearsals every day in which none of the organizers could precisely tell us when and how we were supposed to perform (when they showed up at the rehearsal on time, or at all) and when they actually gave us some “well-meaning advice”, it was ridiculous and personally insulting (though quite possibly the guy giving it was constantly drunk, crazy or both).

Having all of these things repeat themselves one hour before the start of the show only hit me harder. All of the performers were stressed out – we were wasting our valuable time with people who didn’t seem to respect us in the slightest.  However, seeing the lack of organization and receiving all the insults, together with the usual stage fright before any show – all of it ended up having a particularly strong effect on me. My head was burning and I could barely sit still, angry that things were turning out like this.

We did our performance and afterwards I went home in a very gloomy mood. When I thought about it a bit, I came to one simple conclusion: Even though I knew what I had to do, I again didn’t apply the lessons I talk about here so much. I should have first accepted the simple fact: you cannot influence nor are you responsible for this sad excuse for organizing. You should recognize that the insults you’ve received were coming from people who have no idea what they’re talking about – treat them like a passing noise and not like something that can hurt you.  Observe the reality as it is and choose your attitude. In this case, as I didn’t decide how to respond and act, I let the bad energy in the air push and pull me around and define my mood for me. In the end, it created an unrest in the same way that the circumstances from that morning did their wonderful magic.

This morning I had a similar situation – I wanted to repeat my hunt for zen from yesterday, but some obligations came up which meant that I couldn’t. I started to get angry, but I noticed my reaction and quickly I literally told myself aloud: “These are the circumstances, and you cannot change them. So, accept them, choose your attitude and figure out what to do next. Yes, in one hour you’ll spend around 20 minutes doing something which isn’t your responsibility. But you’ll do it, because now you have to, and after that you’ll go for your walk.”

I was amazed that once I did this, it almost instantly transformed my current mood into one of calm and readiness to act. So, why wasn’t I able to do the same yesterday?

a glimpse into tango zen 2

Some years ago I spent several months teaching English to one family of refugees from Kosovo during the weekends. I first met them while working as an interpreter, and the story of their personal plight, of their escape under gunfire and the rebuilding of their lives from scratch and in harrowing conditions, touched me deeply. I wanted to do something, so I offered to help them in the one way I could at the time – by giving free English lessons to their 6 year old son.

Soon I started giving lessons to his father as well, and it proved to be as interesting a challenge as is working with a hyperactive boy. Although he was in his late 20s/early 30s and working with computers was part of his job, he understood practically no English at all. He literally only knew a few simple words, like how to say Yes, No,  Ok and Hello.

I was thinking up ways of how to teach him a foreign language from scratch, and I decided to try with the Michel Thomas method, which had helped me get a good enough basic grasp of  Spanish a few years earlier.

It was a very slow process: Learning one small word at a time, combining words into short sentences, pointing to objects, giving them names, learning the pronunciation, correcting the mistakes, repeating, repeating, repeating…  Yet we were making progress, and at one point we decided we could make the learning more fun with a song.

”Who’s your favourite English singer or band?” I asked him. I didn’t know what to expect and I had my prejudices, as these people, wonderful as they were, were from a small village in Kosovo.

”Oh, well, I love Nick Cave” he said.

My priceless attempt at a deadpan expression lasted only a few seconds. My eyes spread in wonderment: ”Nick Cave? You listen to Nick Cave?” You really listen to Nick Cave?”

”Er, yes. I don’t really understand what he’s singing, but I like the music, and I like his voice.”

I couldn’t believe it. I loved Nick Cave.  We’ll use music we both love to help him learn English.

I picked The Weeping Song. It was slow, with fairly simple words and lots of repetition, and, of course, beautiful.

We started going through the lyrics, one word and phrase at the time. Progress was painstakingly slow, like climbing a huge mountain of meaning, and you have so little with which you can grab at it.

But progress we did make. The deeper we went into the song, the more elated both of us were feeling. As the knowledge was welling up inside him, I felt as if something was building up in me too.

We finally reached the last verse. I played the song again, a hundredth time, but now it was completely different.  Now we both knew what the words meant.

The song started.

It would take me almost an hour by bus to get to this family, and several times I would spend the journey standing,pressed tightly between tired bodies with sweaty clothes and empty expressions – the neighbourhood where the family lived had many more sad stories. In these moments (and not only here),  exposed to this grim atmosphere, I wondered whether this whole thing was worth it. I knew that they appreciated my help, but were these classes meaningful? Were they really making a difference?

The song started. Eyes focused on the lyrics we’ve written out by hand, he sang in a quiet voice, a voice with many layers whose richness started to unfold before me.  In it one could feel the effort of trying to do something which was until recently completely alien. And yet, at the same time, there was also a lightness to his tone, the ease of having rehearsed that something many times. Above it all, there was that simple joy of learning and the thrill of finally understanding what was until recently a string of meaningless sounds.

All of these layers, and much more, flowed over me and overwhelmed me. I couldn’t contain my open-mouthed smile as  I stared at him in joy with eyes wide as saucers, like those of a 6 year old boy. I had a distinct, intense feeling of being privileged to witness something truly special happening within those four walls. It was as if we were contained in our very own bubble, like two human beings in a desert under the chilly night sky, cut off from the rest of the world, happily huddled around a fire that gave warmth, life and meaning, sharing something sacred between themselves.

I remembered my doubts and questions in those bus rides. They all evaporated in that one moment. Their purpose was clear:  they had to be tough and it was necessary to struggle to overcome them, in order to selflessly give again and again, until what was given was enough to create something much greater than the individual parts.

That something was now there, and for a few moments I basked in its glow. Then it was gone, as quickly as it came. He was still singing his song, seemingly unaware of what I have just experienced. As he reached the last verse, he turned towards me with a wide grin on his face: ”Wow, that was great! I can finally understand it!”

Some weeks after that afternoon I stopped visiting this family due to various circumstances. Since then, I have never experienced anything close to that feeling.

Until a few weeks ago. That last dance, though bearing a different feeling, was, I think, a product of similar circumstances. I have given so much to tango in the past year, and I have received a lot in return. But there were many struggles to overcome, fights with my ego, fights with the egos of others, and while there was a number of victories, subconsciously I felt like I didn’t get nearly as much from them as I should have.

But that night, like that afternoon in that small room years ago, was not a freak accident of good but random circumstances. It was a product of a person’s effort  – all that giving, all that building, offered me that  glimpse into something much bigger and deeper than what one expects to find.

And this time, I feel like it can happen again; and it can be deeper and last longer than the previous one.

And yet, I can’t really aim for it. Rather, I can strive to be more present in this moment, more humble in that one, more aware of my partner in this one, and again and again and again. Always focusing on what’s right, always focusing on what matters the most.

And then, when I don’t expect it any more, it will come.

a glimpse into tango zen

It was the final tanda of the third milonga in a row – three nights of wonderful dances and great energy in the air. I barely sat through more than two tandas. Instead of feeling tired, each dance felt better and better.

All of this was happening in Belgrade, and not at some festival where you usually find such an atmosphere. As one dance followed another, I was feeling more and more relaxed, mellow and warm inside. I was letting go. I thought it couldn’t get any better than this.

Then came the final dance of the evening. We embraced. As I made the first step, it was as if a fog overtook me. I couldn’t see or hear or sense anything around me. It was as if all this attention poured into that square meter we were dancing in: I could feel every inch of my body, as well as hers, and the music pulsating through us.

It was like dancing through water. I made several small, slow steps, and I marvelled at the sensations that flowed with them. The giros, the boleos, those watching us… None of them mattered. Just standing there embraced was perfect.

After maybe half a minute it passed (though how can one judge time correctly in this state?). The rest of the dance was great, but neither that nor anything from before could compare with this zen.

It was a brief glimpse into what one can feel when one truly lets go. I haven’t felt this sensation since, and I wonder when it will happen again. All I can do is continue trying to be present in the moment, shedding away all the distractions and focusing on what matters – the music, the ronda, my partner and myself.