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When I first get to know someone now, instead of asking "What do you like to do?" or "What drives you?" I'd phrase it as "What kind of stuff and people are you drawn towards? What about them that attracts you?"
There is something very attractive about the idea of attraction.
First, noticing what we are drawn towards reveals something rather strange about our sense of self: how fluid and elusive it is. The locus of control is neither inside the body nor something immaterial beyond. Rather, it consists of dynamic patterns that make up our personhood, called "vibrations" by the spiritual circles, "good vibes" by teeny Millennials, "structural features of living systems" by urban designers and "psychospiritual center of gravity" by the eco-psychologist Bill Plotkin. Our lives are patterned, intertwining with those of other human and more-than-human. Those unseen patterns that hold us together draw me these days.
Second, the "what attracts you" serves another purpose besides getting to know the content of the answer. It's my sneaky way of knowing how well the other can uphold paradoxes, whether she can embrace more of "both-and" rather than "either-or" thinking.
Second, from being driven to being
in allowing oneself to be drawn by this mysterious force, one has to develop a sense of trust as one let go of one's identity.
Anyone who has fallen deeply in love, with a person, a community, an object or an idea, knows how scary and exciting it is. Attraction always implies destruction; it is the very thrill of losing that makes any endeavor worthwhile.
Many people I meet these days are driven, ambitious, high-achieving people, but not all of them have that "being drawn" factor.
I admit: that was me 3-4 years ago, in a slightly different way. While others chase money, power, impact, I chase self-knowledge, but the attitude was the same: relentlessly driven. Couple that type A-ness with an inclination for introspection and you get a hunger for self-transformation, often after some profound "awakening" experiences.
Now, the mystery of the self takes a less central role, not so much because I don't have the time to (I do), but rather because self-discovery becomes less fun compared to self-invention.
It comes with the realization that while it is important to take responsibility for personal development, such process is always co-creative between my own choosing and what life gives. The "type A" curiosity in me is slowly learning the art of yielding to life and stop asking question. Not knowing the self is essential to create it.
Self-making is like in pooping: neither diarrhea nor constipation is as satisfying and good for us. Nothing beats a wondrous piece of shit.
Anyway, thank you for all those who reached to me about my leaving America! The last 35 days here is teeming with a lot of mixed emotions, and I'm cherishing every single moment of it ;-) I will be in NY from 23-28th Dec and SF from Jan 7th-13th so let me know if you are there and want to meet up!
Erotic Gravity
This week, I wrote a short piece about the terms "erotic gravity", a phrase that just popped up in my mind as I think about dancing and attraction.
Erotic Gravity
The phrase pops up as I remember the word of a dance teacher “When you dance with someone, remember there is always a third partner: the floor”. I thought “Wait, if eros is about physical attraction, then the most erotic thing must be gravity between bodies, particularly the larger body of the earth”.
Mediated by comfy mattress and ergonomic chair, we the humans of modern world often forgets the intimacy of gravity. Only when I started learning to dance, particularly Contact Improv, did I start to experience a deeper intimacy with this literal force of nature.
My first Contact Improv lesson, I got to lie on the floor, curl up and down, roll back and forth, slither through and fall into the smooth floor. It was the very first lesson because the first dance partner everyone has is the floor. My teacher said “every time you dance, remember you are always dancing with the floor. Get to know it intimately”.
It reminds me of a line in a Rumi poem: “There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.”
You can fall flat on the floor, which is reckless, dangerous yet thrilling. You can drop gracefully, starting with the head nodding then body furling down like a rolling sheet. You can even melt as if your skeleton suddenly is pulled out of the body into thick air. Or you can tumble around like a blob of slithering amoeba, stretching out and embracing the floor in its entire glory.
You can say a lot about someone from the way one falls; it is the embodied manifestation of her relationships with gravity. How much is there resistance? Acceptance? Exploration? Cherish? Leverage?
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See the full post here on Medium.
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