“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing, there is a field. I’ll take you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn’t make any sense.” –Rumi
Some people need clear direction, wandering rudderless when they don’t have instruction, schedule, or expectation. Others chafe at such a lead, preferring instead to float on intuitive tides and emerge where they will. For sure, clarity helps breed efficiency and accomplishment. Likewise, openness does allow for inspiration and serendipity. In that case, the process itself becomes the reward. A skillful teacher or facilitator learns to cultivate a dynamic balance between the two forces in a group. The best improvisers do the same on stage.
Our Creations in Nature course here at Findhorn has characters of both sorts. Emily from the Netherlands and Lucia from Argentina would prefer to know precisely where and when we start. What is the task at hand, specifically? Jenny from England and Isabella from Austria would rather follow a flow until feeling what’s next.
For our first two days or so, we’ve co-existed fairly well. Tension seems to be rising a bit, however, as we bump against the demands of planning meals and sharing rides. One woman’s amble becomes another woman’s delay.
Similar tensions show up in the growth of our artwork as well. Should our instructors challenge us to stretch out of our patterns or to dive even further into them? If I choose to work with stones yet again, am I stuck in a rut or elaborating a style or mood? Each member of our group will answer these questions differently; some get a bit more animated defending their responses.
I find myself amused a bit by all the fuss. The improvisor in me wants simply to say “yes, and.” If you need directions, ask for them. If you don’t, go on your way. If you want to stay comfortable, don’t try anything tough. If you seek the thrill of exploring an edge, try something new that forces you to fail. We can each set our own agenda. It’s all good.
I do think a skillful instructor can help both types identify possibilities for exploration. Dietmar Voorwold, one of our facilitators, has far more experience making land art than we do. He sees variables for tweaking that we might not imagine exist.1 And he knows that the wider our experimentation, the more we learn about ourselves. Working with large stones to make an arch might show heavy forces within that need careful balancing. Choosing small pebbles or delicate flowers might awaken us to the subtler, transient beauties in our everyday lives? In my mind, the infinite possibilities present more of a giant playground than an imposing void.
Thankfully, Findhorn seems a great place to sort all this out. There’s structure and coherence at work, no doubt: like any other business organization, they use roads and maps, policies and procedures. Yet whimsy also gets its due. Pathways wend and surprise. Shapes defy easy prediction. As a whole, it appears that intention and inspiration have found a harmony here.
The secret of the place runs deeper though: underneath that human balance lies a vast reservoir of trust in the larger landscape. Findhorn began in co-creation with nature and has since evolved into a world-
renowned ecovillage and spiritual learning center. The original fantastic gardens grew from the hands and hard work of Peter and Eileen Caddy, Dorothy MacLean and all those that followed them, yes, but they also blossomed from the guidance those founders received from garden spirits, devas, and earth angels. Natural intelligence has swirled below, above, and around every decision here, more powerful and more resilient than any human-created dualism folks might have clung to over the years.
I tend to believe such guiding “angels” exist in all parts of our lives and that we would do well to tap into their power more often. Working in that light, my job as a teacher would mostly mean holding a larger form, letting the everyday dramas and lessons draw from a deeper well that students may not see. In an improv group, my task would be to rely less on my abilities and more on the wisdom, character, or humor that wants to move through the group as a whole. On the softball field, I would look for the team’s shared identity, one that shifts into unique forms as players come and go.
In any of these arenas, expertise and effort do still matter–I should still plan a lesson, monitor the arc of a show, or think about how to motivate my athletes to do their best–but what I *do* will always stay smaller than what *is*. Finding a balance between intention and allowance is good. Finding the wisdom beyond such opposites is even better.
1 During our group meeting yesterday, I brainstormed a few avenues Dietmar might encourage us to experiment with:
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Motion–A work can be static and stationary or dynamic, moving on its own or in relation to some natural element.
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Color–Vivid or subdued, multi-tone or rainbow, there are palettes of options available.
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Material–We can work with wood or water, ice or stone, flower or leaf. Each lends a different quality.
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Size–Our canvas might be the surface of a pebble or an entire beach.
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Dimension–Does the piece stay in two dimensions or reach out to a third? If it’s on the ground, does it reach up? If it’s on a wall, does it reach out?
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Verticality–sometimes we look up to take our art in, other times down.
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Seed–Perhaps we carry a concept of the piece before we began, something we want to get done. Maybe we follow a sudden flash or lean towards intuition along the way.
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Aim–It could be that the end aesthetic matters most to us or that we value the journey along the way.
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Tenuousness–Land art is subject to many would-be disruptors: strong breezes, changing tides, passerby pets or children. How do our enjoyment, attention, and creativity shift if we’re always in danger of “losing” the piece along the way?
I suspect each of these categories for exploration will help as we continue to create in nature–and as I look to apply the insights in other arenas.
Jennifer DesMaisons says
Really like this entry and especially these lines: “my job as a teacher would mostly mean holding a larger form, letting the everyday dramas and lessons draw from a deeper well that students may not see. In an improv group, my task would be to rely less on my abilities and more on the wisdom, character, or humor that wants to move through the group as a whole. On the softball field, I would look for the team’s shared identity, one that shifts into unique forms as players come and go.”
This is a big shift and SUCH an important one!
So glad you are getting to be at Findhorn…finally:)