plucking the strings of the soul

Yesterday I finally got around to watching "The Red Violin", which is an engaging tale of a 17th century master violin-maker who creates the perfect instrument for his soon to be born son. But his wife dies in labor, so instead he takes he takes all his love and anger and channels it into the instrument, varnishing it red with her blood. Just before she dies, their witch tells her fortune, and reads in the cards that she will go on a long strange and complicted journey, which turns out to be the journey the violin takes as it gets passed from hand to hand throughout history, up till the present day, and all the love and anger (and misfortune) that this magical instrument brings to those who play it. As a magician (and musician) the idea that an object can be imbued with such power, and its history told before hand, resonates with me, escpecially when the descendents of all those it touched converge in the present to try and buy it at an auction (which is played out again and again from their different points of view).

Afterwards I took out my viola, which I haven't touched since the circus ended in October, and let its song sweep me away. Now, my instrument is not nearly as magical (or old), but it still has great power, and playing it requires me to give myself over to the world in a way that nothing else can. I have been playing it since I was a child, and though I also have played guitar for the majority of my life, I play the guitar more intellectually, consciouss of scales and melodies, whereas the viola is a gate to my heart and to the universe. No wonder I haven't picked it up in a long time, it takes tremendous courage and strength of heart to remain on my feet with such ecstatic depths of emotion and soul coursing through my fingers, and for many months now I just haven't had that in me to give. But now things have changed again.

I decided the other day that it was time to regather and refocus my energies, in order to live more honestly and clearly, which has meant questioning a lot of my habitual behaviours and directing my will to those things that will only further my steps on my path. So for the past couple of nights, while relaxing my body and offering up prayers to the gods of sleep that I might better remember and control my dreams, I have started reviewing my days in light of the yamas (worldly restraints) and niyamas (personal observances), the first two paths of Patanjali's eightfold limbs of yoga (from his yoga sutra).

With my own understanding of them, the yamas are:
ahimsa- compassion for all living things (caring)
satya- commitment to the truth (honesty)
asteya- not-stealing (honoring or letting be)
brahmacharya- merging with the One (trusting or letting come) (also translated as commitment)
aparigraha- not-grasping (giving or letting go)

The niyamas are:
shaucha- purity
santosha- contentment
tapas- burning enthusiasm (focus or will)
swadhyaya- self-study
ishvarapranidhana- celebration of the spiritual

Now, I don't claim perfection in any of these things, far from it, but paying explicit attention to them has already broken me from several undesirable habits and has fostered a sense of lightness in my heart that has been mostly lacking since my samahdic experience of god (the axis of universal consciousness) over the summer. While that moment brought me back to the spiritual and magical path I had lost sight of over the years, it has been difficult to rekindle the clarity and intensity I found there without the aid of San Pedro to guide me back through the gates of heaven. But having that experience has shown me it is possible to be there at all, and is what keeps my feet sure, despite winter's interference and my previous lack of intentional energy.

I also watched the movie adaptation of Hesse's "Siddartha" yesterday, which was incredibly good and contained many wonderful ideas. I haven't read the book in a long time, and will have to (or watch the movie again) before I can make any comments on it. Further transmissions impending...