Flow
Day hosts: Jane, Anne-Laure, Mel
|
Story of Day 1
March 15, 2020
Having arrived late the night before, it was only in the morning that I could truly appreciate the beauty of the venue. We were at Tam Thanh Natural Beach Resort, about 70 km from Da Nang. The people of the resort were friendly and helpful. There was a family of dogs that spent most of the time leisurely laying in the sun. It was not a place of great luxury, but a place that felt homey and honest. And then there was the beach.
That morning my wife and I went to the beach at around 7 am. There was almost nobody around, just us, the sand, the sea, and the sky. The sun brilliantly lit half of the sky, the other half was still shrouded in dark cloud, seemingly not ready for the day yet. It had been a long time since I could feel the sun on my skin like that. “I would be so tanned when I’m back,” I thought to myself. In that open space, the virus again felt so far away.
At 10:30 am the Villagers gathered at the pavilion for the opening circle. We sat around a beautiful centerpiece that looked like a mini zen garden. Out of all the registrations, only 30 could make it here. There were ten nationalities around the circle: Vietnam, Australia, America, Brazil, Japan, England, India, Romania, France, and Austria. I saw strange faces mixed in with those that I know and love.
We spent most of the day in a check in – a practice that aims to help people be present and make space for every voices to be heard. In that check in we took turn to answer one question: “What has guided you here?” No matter where we came from, we all took lot of risks to come to the Village, the risk of traveling, the risk of being in in close contact with one another. Some people took a risk of not being able to get home afterward. That check in question invited us to share our decision process, not to explain but for the sake of acknowledgement and connection.
Some people say they came here to support their friends. Some wanted to be in community, to feel again the sense of belonging and support. And some, including me, still did not understand fully why they had made that choice. “Something I cannot see yet calls me to be here with you”, Corina said. “I am like a learning turtle, travelling around the world with my backpack. I choose to stop looking for reasons now, but rather be present and reflect on the experience after it had happened.”
In that check in more than one people said it was love that guided them here. If it was in any other setting, I would cringe hearing that. But here for some reason those words felt true for me, too. Perhaps it was the sincerity that accompanied those words. Perhaps because before the check in there was an activity that made me felt connected to something bigger than me, bigger than all of us. Earlier we were invited to go to the beach and stand in the sea. After the walk in the hot sand, the cold water was refreshing. Every time the wave crashed in it pulled away a bit of sand under my feet. And every time I sank a bit deeper, a bit closer to the Earth. As I stood there looking out to the unknown, I heard from Jane a tune mixed in the wind:
“Mother, I feel you under my feet,
Mother, I hear your heartbeats.”
Having arrived late the night before, it was only in the morning that I could truly appreciate the beauty of the venue. We were at Tam Thanh Natural Beach Resort, about 70 km from Da Nang. The people of the resort were friendly and helpful. There was a family of dogs that spent most of the time leisurely laying in the sun. It was not a place of great luxury, but a place that felt homey and honest. And then there was the beach.
That morning my wife and I went to the beach at around 7 am. There was almost nobody around, just us, the sand, the sea, and the sky. The sun brilliantly lit half of the sky, the other half was still shrouded in dark cloud, seemingly not ready for the day yet. It had been a long time since I could feel the sun on my skin like that. “I would be so tanned when I’m back,” I thought to myself. In that open space, the virus again felt so far away.
At 10:30 am the Villagers gathered at the pavilion for the opening circle. We sat around a beautiful centerpiece that looked like a mini zen garden. Out of all the registrations, only 30 could make it here. There were ten nationalities around the circle: Vietnam, Australia, America, Brazil, Japan, England, India, Romania, France, and Austria. I saw strange faces mixed in with those that I know and love.
We spent most of the day in a check in – a practice that aims to help people be present and make space for every voices to be heard. In that check in we took turn to answer one question: “What has guided you here?” No matter where we came from, we all took lot of risks to come to the Village, the risk of traveling, the risk of being in in close contact with one another. Some people took a risk of not being able to get home afterward. That check in question invited us to share our decision process, not to explain but for the sake of acknowledgement and connection.
Some people say they came here to support their friends. Some wanted to be in community, to feel again the sense of belonging and support. And some, including me, still did not understand fully why they had made that choice. “Something I cannot see yet calls me to be here with you”, Corina said. “I am like a learning turtle, travelling around the world with my backpack. I choose to stop looking for reasons now, but rather be present and reflect on the experience after it had happened.”
In that check in more than one people said it was love that guided them here. If it was in any other setting, I would cringe hearing that. But here for some reason those words felt true for me, too. Perhaps it was the sincerity that accompanied those words. Perhaps because before the check in there was an activity that made me felt connected to something bigger than me, bigger than all of us. Earlier we were invited to go to the beach and stand in the sea. After the walk in the hot sand, the cold water was refreshing. Every time the wave crashed in it pulled away a bit of sand under my feet. And every time I sank a bit deeper, a bit closer to the Earth. As I stood there looking out to the unknown, I heard from Jane a tune mixed in the wind:
“Mother, I feel you under my feet,
Mother, I hear your heartbeats.”