Many of my Indigenous teachers remind me to enter spaces in the natural world consciously. Whether going for an ocean swim, taking a nap in a forest or resting on a log, I have been taught to pause, connect with the space I am about to enter and therefore change, and ask permission because my presence there will have an impact. This is also a process of discernment. Discernment has depth. Discernment is rooted in our interoceptive, i.e everything we sense and know beneath our skin, insight. The Kreyol term konysans is, for me, connected to discernment. Konysans is a deep knowing; a knowing in our bones and through our Spirit that connects us to all that is – past, present and future.
Dancing the Wild Home retreats are an extended experience of entering a space respectfully, in discernment and with appreciation for divine perfection. When I was a teenager, I had an epiphany that the most perfect perfection honors imperfection as whole and perfect. In our world that overwhelms our senses with images of artificial perfection, that almost forces high speed interactions and over-scheduled days, DWH is a balm and a counterpoint. Beach walks, whale encounters, movement explorations and wild inquiries are infused with the practice of consciously entering a place and discerning all our actions there. A former participant described learning to marvel at the sacred in the ordinary and everyday.
The beaches on this remote island with no roads, cars, towns or stores are full of gorgeous seashells. Shell collecting is pure magic. When the tide is low there are ample tidal pools to search for treasures in. We also find seashells out amongst the reviving coral reef. A 2015 typhoon damaged and bleached much of the reef. It is now resurrecting with a palette of underwater color that is magnificent.
Many of the shells have slight imperfections after being tumbled around in rock and water. Underwater shells are often “perfect”: no cracks, breaks or discoloration. Whenever I find them, I think of the seashell stores I frequented as a child, piled with “perfect” shells. Shells that likely were housing an animal when found. Animals who were cruelly removed, displaced and killed.
This year, I found one “perfect” beautiful shell underwater that appeared to be empty. Bringing it ashore, I checked it several times and even though it was a bit heavy, it seemed void of an inhabitant. I found a smaller, similar shell near a tidal pool, and carried both back to my room. Within moments of putting them down, the smaller one scooted away. So I checked the bigger one again, and was still convinced there was no-one in the shell. I placed it in a large clam shell with other shells I collected. In the morning, I saw a small creature had tried to move the shell. She was half hanging out, dead. I was devastated. Its tiny face was exposed and I felt certain it felt its own kind of fear. Weeping, I returned the tiny body to the ocean, and later, returned the shell. Beautiful as it was, I discerned that I could not keep it. My mind logic said “Now it’s definitely empty–keep it.” The 80% of my brain that is my body said “NO. Return it to the sea”.
Many people might laugh at the thought of grieving a tiny crab. I’m certain just as many would keep the shell, now that it was definitely empty. It took 2 days of discernment for me to know – Konysans – to return the shell to the same place in the reef where I found it. An offering for another creature; a home. Beautiful in its unblemished perfection as it was, I knew, beneath the entitled reasoning we humans have long used to justify displacement, murder and dominance of so many creatures, that choosing honor and respect for the little crabs life, and the home it could provide for another, was the correct action.
Together we began collecting and co-appreciating the shells that were “imperfect” because they showcased an inner spiral we would not see if it was still whole, or a flash of color that isn’t apparent on the outside. Always asking permission before gathering them became a practice for each of us. We each created ephemeral art of these shells, and placed them in designated collection sites, agreeing to choose only a few to carry home. These shared actions of honoring the divine perfection in each broken or tattered shell (and other ocean finds) through art-making, surrendering the beauty back to the tides and then letting our open hearted curiosity guide us to observe more beauty in the wild, taking only what we were granted permission for, is engaged reciprocity rooted in the discerning heart of konysans.