Rare Earth

"No man ever steps into the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man." 

                                                                                                                                                                                                      Heraclitus

What can I say on the subject of Rare Earth? All I could offer is that it seems to me that the rarest things of this earth are each and every single one of its countless passing moments.

Far be it from me to claim I’ve figured it all out. There is still much more to learn, and undoubtedly I will run out of time before I have done so, but the one hypothesis that still holds true and is yet to be disproven, is that presence provides the key to a fulfilling life. And if presence is not the key, then it must be the keyhole. That which opens the doors of perception to a fuller and more accurate comprehending of the reality that enshrouds us. A reality we so often distort through the blinkered lenses of our individual blind-spots.

A reality impossible to divorce ourselves from at any time. For we are not merely the witnesses of reality, but the works themselves, as much a part of the fabric of reality as anything else, even when we might feel disconnected from it.

In my previous blog post, I recalled my experiences of shamanic drumming. I have since reflected and concluded one reason I was drawn back time and again to the drumming circle was that it promised me the feeling of connection. It allowed me to slip into a state of presence almost effortlessly, and by arriving at such a state, I felt more in touch, not only with myself but with others, within a far deeper and more rooted reality. A reality beyond the various labels we use to divide ourselves, a shared reality that is at once primal and instinctive.

Perhaps there are few things more beautiful to witness or participate in than a group of adult strangers playing together with complete abandon, as though they were children once more. In such a space all differences of perspective are rendered meaningless. It is both a psychic and physical engagement, and there is a genuine feeling that we are all tethered to one another, not through our backgrounds, our ideologies or political leanings, but through a common heartbeat that supersedes all these details, and ultimately reveals them as decorative elements of no real importance at all.

In the drumming circle, there is no set design or rule. There are no discussions beforehand and there is no assigned leader. Every player responds intuitively to the other, accepting and honouring whatever is given to them. Each session is entirely unrehearsed, and as such, every body of music produced arises and evolves organically, the product of pure improvisation, to be played once and never repeated again.

There is a significance in this: to sound once and be heard nevermore. Echoes, as similar as they might sound to the original, are still mere copies, mime artists performing tributes. The temporary and fleeting nature of our drumming circle’s musical creation reflected the nature of all creations. For the immutable nature of nature is its mutability, the only thing permanent: change.

In light of this, it could be said that our practice provided a good roadmap for how best to approach life. It acted as a reminder of the endangered quality of everything in existence, and better urged us towards the importance of being totally present and bearing witness to it all. If you didn’t, then it would already be too late. The moment would expire just as soon as it transpired, and there would be no chance to get it back. For every moment strung along this puzzling yarn that we call life, spun ceaselessly on by the ever-spinning wheels of birth and death, is utterly unique and cannot be replicated.

Best, therefore, to give it all your full attention.

Thanks for reading, Josh