Night Moves

The last vestiges of night yield
to the energy of the dawn

I am learning to listen to the night, and in a yurt there are a concert hall of sounds:  Some of them subtle and nuanced, others uncompromisingly percussive, while still other might just knock you right out of bed.

First and foremost, the nights are wonderful.  I feel safe and secure.  But there are sounds, some new and perhaps a little strange, and in the immediacy and the intimacy of a yurt they are different when contrasted to the more traditional house or apartment. 

Take the tapping at the window behind my bed.  What might be rapping at my chamber plastic?  Searching a bit with my flashlight reveals a loose strap end fluttering in the night’s breeze off Mauna Kea.  Knock-knock.  Come in...

Or perhaps it is the drum solo that brings the crowd to its feet when the soft patter of rain is interrupted by a tropical deluge.  Thunder and lightning replace cymbal crashes!

A view from the crow's nest, aka the dome.  I needed to
re-adjust the dome slightly after the earthquake.

And perhaps most exciting to date, for a guy from the heartland, the rumble of the earth itself, teaching the Zen of change in a universe constantly in motion.  Even my beautiful bronze dome shifted an inch or so at that moment.  (Not to worry, there are strong safety straps attached.)

But I live in a yurt, because I want to hear real sounds.  I desire this contact, this re-connection.  Somewhere in my gut and yours too I bet, there is a desire for the sounds of water, air, and all other forms of elemental matter. 

Very primal, very real.

They are not to be feared but rather revered.

Funny how the night moves…

-P