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Discomfort of Simple Growth: Task of the Shaman

We came together to the space, and there we were told there was a lot of work to be done. The whole room at The Coffee Depot was dusty wood, dim and inviting. Everyone from The Tequihua Foundation was buzzing about like bees. Some were graceful and others hectic, but everyone worked with their own rhythm and danced with each other.

I tried to be useful, I tried to help and not be in the way. There were tables and chairs for the audience, the cameras and microphones in the back, and the stage to be cleaned and set up. In any situation where physical work is involved I feel there are enough people who know what they're doing. I feel too small, too weak, too clumsy, too trapped in my own head to see what I'm about to drop next. By trying to help, I end up tripping people and making mistakes, so it is more comfortable for me (and I assume for others) to stay out of the way. And I've learned in life to do just that.

But that day I knew it had to be different. It was important that everyone participate. I arrived nervous and decided to not stay off to one side unless I was asked to. I strived to always be doing something useful without the nervous chatter and movements. I worked with my own rhythm, and when I had finished one task I asked for another. Sometimes when I was in the middle of cleaning or organizing the space, I was asked to help someone else. I would, and then return to my previous task. The room was prepared and ready without conflict. Then it was time for the first Telling of The Angelic Host series to begin.

When the music erupted from another event outside and I heard the background chatter from the other room I felt very annoyed, interrupted, angry at those who were ignorant to what was happening in the space Koyote the Blind had brought. I did not stay angry for long; I knew I had to work with this. I had learned to listen to my habit of incorporating external happenings to what is my decided inner reality, to let the universe speak to me.

My job during the performance was to sketch Koyote and the performance space. I kept getting distracted, and though my hands drew along with the words of the shaman before me, my mind followed the beats and clatter. Now and then I had to stop drawing to place my attention front and center. This way, I would not forget myself nor why I was where I was. And it's easy to forget where I am, especially when I am sitting in between different worlds. Some I've known for so long; others I am just arriving to. After doing this a couple times the rest became background noise, a static that served as a reminder of what he was talking about. What was he talking about? I can't remember the words, and yet I know what he was saying. As when I was younger, the specifics lost in translation and yet part of the meaning soaks in. I choose to no longer let the external disruptions define and morph my attention, but work towards the ability to shape it into something more...nutritious.

The discomfort of not allowing myself to get in the way while still participating was the same as the noise coming in from outside. I cannot say with any certainty that the noise was uninvited, nor that it had been a key element of the invocation. No matter the reason these annoying obstacles stand in the way between my self and what I have come here to do, I can choose to use it as the friction I need to grow. Just as the seedling must push through earth to reach air and sunlight. That day, I chose not to stay comfortable in my warm dark and cozy shell in hopes to kiss the sun.

Mariposa Negra

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