Dear Red Room, Happy Anniversary!
I never assumed that a scattered thought, left carelessly, could be so nourished. Maybe it’s a reflection too, this ability to let something go, or leave it in the soil beside the park bench.
And this thought grew and went to flower and dropped seeds, and these seeds grew and flowered and so I came looking for the bench and found a forest. Dense and lush and full of mysteries, and surprises, and stories, and dangers.
We are like that. Full of stories, dangers and surprises.
But nothing grows alone. I may not have been there, but the sun was there… The rains came and went, rinsing the air, leaving behind that damp cool smell, wetting the wood and inspiring the sprout. The wind was there, sculpting, dancing, playing, beating… Doing all the heavy lifting.
What an extraordinary thing you have made. What an extraordinary, powerful, loving space you continue to attend to, create, nourish.
I was sitting through this concert with Ping over 8yrs ago, and though I can’t remember what it was called, it was a 3 hour classical Chinese drama performance and I could not understand a single thing.
Except for the movement, and the sounds. And so I listened, with my body and my skin, and learned so much I can’t name. The length of sound.
I learned this again recently at a concert of 16 Kotos and a butoh dancer. I learned it when I was 17 yrs old, at a French dance performance of Chopin’s 24 preludes.
Listening is muscular. Listening is the rolling of joints, the smoke of breath through a body, singing out a mouth. Listening is the bearing of blood, and the seeing of feeling.
Listening is the same as touch. It can make love, be live, centre and land a soul. Listening is transport, reminds you space and time are malleable, multi dimensional, formless, dancing.
Thank you sun, wind, rain and soil. Thank you for reminding me to never be so careless, and to have faith. Thank you for listening. Congratulations on being here, for the love you have made.
Love to you, red room.
Ayesha Mehta, Co-founder Red Room