Lili Barbery, the nostril and the pebble
Yoga fills innumerable mouths of esoteric discourses on the responsibility that one would have of everything, of our happiness, of our misfortune. It gives meaning to everything, the unbearable, the insignificant. He makes the promise of a possible dialogue with the universe. It would be possible to address the universe, and the universe would answer us! And yes, we could, we small earthly uncertain, discuss with the universe ...
He would be a faceless, formless and individualistic God, who lends himself to all expectations. Waiting for a hug, a home loan, a guinea pig, peace in the world or in his head. We chant, we stretch, we breathe hard, we reconstitute the universe in us, we sparkle, we breathe through the nose, we block his breathing. Dizziness, adrenaline rush, smell of foot, extension of the spirit that is part of the cosmos, we extend to the carpet of our neighbors of torture, we close our eyes and suddenly we have the sensation of living in inside the left nostril the woman who breathes so loudly beside us.
A ray of light is deposited on our face, a shooting star as we take a look through the night, a wish answered, an unexpected meeting, the vegetable vendor who smiles at us, the time that clears up , the plumber cheaper than expected, a dog poop under our sole? Is it a chance, an incident, a chance? No, it's the universe that answers us, "He" speaks to us. He is provided with a logic, an order, a will and he leaves almost nothing to chance.
This God, this order of the world whose face is without contour, would be the cosmos, the air we breathe, the particles of our body, it is the fries of sweet potatoes in our plates, the pumpkin juice in our glass , a caring mother. He is everything and we too, he in us, we in him, I do not know, certainly all this in every possible way. We would each be a kind of temple without walls that encloses it. Close your eyes .. Inspire, exhale ...
Practice yoga and the door opens to engage in a conversation with the universe and try to be in his little papers. And that's where irony and dubious jokes end.
I took a class yesterday with Lili Barbery. I arrived a minute late, and all the darkness and the burden of irony that cheers up my days and despairs me after dark. Lili greeted me, placed me in front of her. We had to close our eyes. Every time I opened them I looked at her skin, her smile, and I was overwhelmed by a primal and devastating desire to roll me against her, or at least against what she was creating around her. (I also felt asleep one or two times). His skin seemed soft and of a beautiful color. I was sure she smelled good. It was, and the image is strange I recognize, as if I was lost in the contemplation of a pebble of a harmonious form, a solid, smiling, unchanging pebble and to hear it. Not to hear his words but his intention. The gong songs soothed me in spite of me, at other times they would have irritated me to the point of physical violence. His words, though somewhat mysterious, touched me. (Even if I asked myself about this higher consciousness that unites us all ? And why tell me about my cycle so often?)
But above all, I heard this thought of love for us and others, of acceptance, this discipline of humility; a gentle injunction: thought should stop to make room for listening. It was like finally resting from everything. It was like diving into the bath of childhood and the needs that existed then and never stopped since. They have been masked, disguised, they are in the depths of us and there, sitting on my aching feet, I remember a well being that all my body and my soul aspire to find. The sensation takes precedence over the thought. The worst person can only be enhanced by this state where irony and wickedness give way to this gift that Lili makes, in the face of the attention she gives to everyone and of which she seems to feed herself as much. that she feeds others.
So, no matter what the fuzziness, the mysticism, the unique prism of this practice, if it makes us better for ourselves and for others, the time we are there.
I hope this article will not be experienced as a blasphemy by its most fervent followers. Maybe I am on the way to join them.
Constance Lacorne, Musca Paris