A « new » month finds me home between travels after days of sitting in the heart of a searing hot Portuguese summer. Writing that, I marvel at the great fortune that has brought me to practice in Portugal these last six years.
The days at Quinta das Águias went from fresh, easy morning to unthinkably fiery midday to the slow ooze of late afternoon into peaceful, cool evening and then the immensity and depth of night, which found us installed in the bowl of a small meadow, overlooking the forest below stars timelessly rising with the moon and the ancient call of night birds.
Having arrived late, due to a cancelled flight on Saturday, I was pleased to discover the retreat well under way without me, the practice carried by each and every participant. Everyone sat as they were, sincere, authentic, clear why they were there, not moving from the moment at hand.
And how did I get there? Thanks to Easyjet’s unexpected change of plans, I had come from nowhere. For a day and a half, I had been under the radar, not where I was supposed to be, neither here nor there. « Chaos, » the ungovernable, had granted me the joy of being just where I was, where I always am.