Being an introvert, I need meaningful periods of solitude between meetings. Every now and then, I take a little pause to land again, to breathe before the next encounter.
I used to think these pauses were about finding calm. But I’ve begun to realise they are about something else.
What I’m looking for is a state of availability.
I notice how easily I can lose it, especially when there is a lot to do. These days I’m preparing both an online and an in-person event, and I find myself on an unrelenting train of things to do:
Book a venue, invite people. Print leaflets. Distribute leaflets. Prepare a playlist. Check the tech. Write a post. Do social media. Make a video. Write a text. What am I forgetting?
The website, the newsletter...
Did I even mention dancing?
I can do a lot in a few hours and feel "highly productive", but also I get completely lost in the process.
Not available.
It is often only when I stop that I notice the difference.
When I let myself fall into those moments of doing nothing, something begins to open up. I experience what the Canadian artist Shar Marie calls, rather beautifully, “a pregnant pause.”
For me, these are moments of landing.
Not simply coming to rest, but arriving. Coming back into myself. Becoming available again.
Because there is a difference between meeting someone and truly arriving to meet them. Between making something and truly giving birth to it.
There is so much in the world that asks for our response, our action, our care.
How do I remain available without becoming overwhelmed or caught in perpetual doing?
Maybe the answer is not to do less, or even to become calmer.
But to let stillness be expectant.
To allow something to come to us, rather than always reaching for it.
Here, I sense another layer to landing.
The journey down doesn't end when you are grounded, touching the floor.
It finds its destination when you are received.
Someone is waiting for you at the airport to greet you with the warmest hug.
Perhaps our real landing is into love.
Into loving yourself. Into being received by another. Into something greater than us.
The point of my practice, in movement, in breath, in stillness, is not to retreat from the world, take 100 deep breaths, and become an illuminated being.
It is to become available and to be received.
What matters in our dance is not keeping our balance at all costs.
Landing is, after all, a dance of surrender.
Stay attuned
Jesus Acosta
