Solidarity

Last night we mingled in the dark heat of a Brooklyn apartment. Sascha had extended an open invitation to an impromptu party and lots of people had taken him up on it. It was crowded, but not uncomfortable. We were sweating, but nobody cared much.

It had been two days since his ambitious event, Flavorpill’s Yoga On the Great Lawn (of Central Park), was rained out. As the sky opened up on the crowd, it didn’t seem possible that months of planning, preparations, and the mobilization of nearly 13,000 yogis could end so abruptly. Elena Brower, co-creator of the event, led the crowd through one sun salutation. Her characteristically calm and reassuring presence was enough to keep the field of yogis in down dog despite wet mats and ominous skies. As we finished the pose, she said, “We’ll be back together here again soon…” And it was announced that due to weather, the event was postponed…

Yogis are a pretty resilient group (dare I say, flexible) and skilled at finding the silver lining. Even as the rain fell that night and we ran for shelter, the feeling that something momentous had occurred, something significant had taken place was strong. No one around me on the Lawn expressed any regret for having come out. On the contrary, there was something bonding in the experience of having tried to make it work. Sascha reassured us all that we’d try again in September and next time…it would be even better.

Last night, at his apartment several of the performers from the Great Lawn event were present and shared their talent in the intimate setting of his home–singers, dancers, didgeridoo players, poets. Some of them had not gotten a chance to perform on stage and were happy for the audience, others, like Buddy Wakefield, were more than willing to reprise their performance for the eager group of us.

Encouraged by Sascha, Buddy stood under the chandelier and started speaking, hesitantly, humbly. He’s a powerful performer, and he commanded the small space. His work is raw and visceral, and then sweet and vulnerable. He talks about God and bar fights, Gandhi and fire ants in nearly the same breath.

When he had finished, the crowd called for an encore. Seeming almost nervous, he took the “stage” again. He wanted to share a new piece with us, but wasn’t sure he was up to it. He’d tried it the other night “in front of a shot ton of people,” he said referencing the Great Lawn, and it hadn’t gone well. We all encouraged and he prepared himself. Shifting from one foot to the other he seemed to be searching for a way to start. “Maybe I’ll start with…a breath,” he said and inhaled deeply. As he did, the whole room inhaled and exhaled with him in unison. The breath was strong and firm, a yogic breath. And Buddy started laughing. He shook his head, “I love a room full of hippies. They breathe right along with you.” We all laughed at our automatic response–our ever-ready desire to breathe through life and the easy, uncoordinated way we knew our breath would help him feel more comfortable, not so alone standing there in front of us. When he said “breath,” we all thought, “Yes, let’s breathe…together.” He delivered the poem flawlessly.

In a night full of magic, that breath that filled and lifted the room in a show of support–our gift to a man who was willing to share his art with us–was for me the purest expression of solidarity. It was really the theme of the night. We were there to support Sascha and his vision, to support each other in all our efforts to be real and express our deepest selves, and to be supported by a family of like-minded and like-hearted people. It was a genuine evening in a world nearly lost in artifice. A good reminder to all of us…when in doubt, or even just walking about, breathe.