Seeking balance and connection
Arriving in Cape Town at the end of an eventful year, I settled into my Southern rhythm. This involved being on my deck meditating before sunrise each morning and then getting to Fish Hoek beach, walking its length and then breathing in the ozone from the waves as I swam out backstroke along the shoreline. This had been my usual pattern, but I believe that was the year it changed. Ten days before I arrived there was a shark attack and a wonderful woman, who had swum out into the middle of the bay for years, disappeared after unwittingly swimming into the space of a great white shark. The shark had been stationary in the waters but visible to the frantic fishermen keeping a lookout from the mountain. Tayna, at age seventy-six, also swam backstroke and I had a similar trajet to hers, usually half an hour later in the morning. In the face of this tragedy, I had to adapt and started going down to the Dalebrook tidal pool in Kalk Bay instead, sitting alone perched on the edge of the rocks and practicing my harmonic chant. Gazing into the early morning sun there were often schools of dolphins or porpoises, which glided through my vision. I felt very connected.
I had my practice CDs which David had produced with the tanpura in C # tuning and also in G. This was played as a constant background drone, to which I would chant on the slow outbreath reaching depths and resonances which surprised me. Sometimes it seemed as though my chanting was from another source, and I imagined my blanketed Mongolian self chanting somewhere on the Steppes; I was almost transported there. Or perhaps I was.
I was doing a great deal of practice at this time and finding interesting responses from different animals. Cats were not drawn to the deep vibrations emanating from me when I chanted. In fact, they took themselves off to a distance beyond the field, observing from there. On the rocks in the early mornings, however, several dogs who came with owners would come closer to the sound. One in particular, Petal, would lean up against the side of my back, pressing firmly into the vibration. I was reading a great deal too, at this time, about the healing effects of sound, and these random experiences with animals provided insights.
One rather unusual experience involved a giant mountain tortoise, aged over one hundred years and a beloved long-term resident at the Vineyard Hotel – a family owned establishment in a beautiful setting below Table Mountain. There are gardens and lawns and paths along the river, and it is a tranquil paradise in the middle of the suburbs. I was to meet up with friends there at sunset and had arrived early, deciding to take full benefit of the setting. Seeking quietude, I sat on my mat and went into a quiet space slowly becoming conscious of my silent breath, and then the sound of the exhales which contained the harmonics, becoming increasingly audible.
I was alone, far away from any hotel activity and surrounded by lush greenery and the indigenous flowerings of March in the Cape. Breathing out and hearing the sounds which must have evoked Solar winds, the title of the Harmonic Choir’s first CD, which twenty years ago had sold 300,000 copies. Then the fuller chant emerged on the ‘mmm …’ with my lips closed. The ensuing resonance built up and filled my chest cavity, and I began to feel the vibrations flooding through my body.
In this meditative state one is in the present moment, focused and without the usual chatter of thoughts and background noise flitting in and out. I am not sure how long I was chanting. I had my eyes closed. Suddenly, my eyes opened although I did not stop chanting. There, about twenty meters away from me, but bearing down rather fast, was ‘Oupa’, the giant tortoise. He was huge and from my perspective sitting lotus-like on the grass he, poised on large limbs as he lifted his heavy shell, seemed even bigger. And he was moving purposefully in my direction. That was totally clear to me.
I was still chanting and realised that this was what he was coming towards. In a futile attempt to create some boundary, I lifted the mat and covered my knees. He was now two meters away and moving at the same pace as before. He had not slowed down at all and proceeded to ease his huge carapace onto my lap. He was clearly trying to get as close to the source of this vibration as possible. His shell was possibly half a meter long, and he had clambered into my arms, literally. My left hand was gently holding him under that scrawny reptilian neck, which actually was as thick as my fist when he extended it. My right hand was holding the base of his shell, where his tail would emerge. And there we sat, Oupa and I, for a long time. I was gently toning the OM and it clearly resonated with this ancient one.
At one point, when our communion was somehow complete, his head suddenly twisted round so that his eyes looked directly into mine. I had a sense of primordial connection, of looking into eternity, and of great and intense Love. I felt my heart bursting and tears of love and gratitude welled up. I did not want this moment to end. But Oupa then opened his mouth, his eyes still holding mine, and emitted a sound that is hard to describe. It was gentle, like a strong sigh, a ssshhhh… almost a hiss, but I could hear his love. And then he slowly removed himself from my embrace onto the ground and lumbered off back along the path. I realised how heavy he had been, as the feeling slowly came back into my numbed thighs and calf muscles.
What a gift. I believe this was the first direct experience of inter-dimensionality I was given from the animal kingdom. It was powerful. And I sat for a long time afterwards, allowing the sun to slip behind the mountain before I could bring myself to pack up my things and go up to meet my friends.
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