Or had to really invest time and effort to do so? That were secret, or hidden, or mysterious, a time of Yellow Pages, of Lonely Planet guide books, of word of mouth, of gathering clues and follow the rumor, a time before internet and Google Maps. In particular, for those spiritual seekers who were once searching for a Teacher, as naive as that image might be, remember the (maybe infantile) thrill of asking around to find that authentic truth sharing nomadic sadhu in that cave or river bank, or that temple, or that remote little village that didn't even show in the map?
Well, i just met one of those.
A true dharma teacher without school nor students nor website nor business nor... phone! Nor intention to have neither one of those things. A Slam Poet Truth Teacher. I knew him already as he is an itinerant presence in the contact improvisation group i jam with every once in a while, down here in the European hippie hoods. We had beautiful chemistry together, not only because he was an original dancer who moved as if he was re-discovering movement itself every single jam, never twice quite the same, nor because he is weird as fuck in his functional social autism, so that i can share the 'most weird person in the room' medal with some else for a change, but because he was always never-not-himself. Wether shy or shiny or insecure or quiet or extravagant or engaged or uncomfortable or just silently contemplating, HapoL is HapoL and nothing else. My kind of man.
We're both very quiet in these contact improv jams, we stretch, meditate, observe, dance and leave. We come in quietly from the night shadows and return to them swiftly, before anyone realises our absence, so we barely exchanged a few words during the months he was here. Last summer, the day he left for Germany to be with the woman he loves, after we kissed, on the lips of course, we said to each other:
- You know what, i think we could be real friends if we'd had more time.
- I was about to say that, i feel it too.
- Be well, my friend.
- You too, we meet again.
And that was that, he left, as much a question mark as when he was here. In fact i later realised that besides what i just told you, i knew only three things about HapoL: that he looks like a tall skinny scruffy beardy prince, reluctant to bear his royal blood, but unable not to do so, like the pretty girl in the movies who wears glasses to hide her beauty... duh... that he writes poetry and that he is an origami artist. No, not the kind that makes an airplane or a crappy flower on children parties, no, a proper origami artist, who makes detailed one of a kind self designed pieces of origami art. That was all i knew from him.
Time does its things... and HapoL came back down to Portugal again for a visit, now in the end of August. Shall we meet? Yes of course, one of these days... but unfortunately he caught me right in the middle of the retreat season, when i am hyper-focused on work alone and use every single free second to ground and heal myself alone, as i really don't know any other way to do my job without breaking: i give myself fully, then repair myself fully in the few free hours i get, don't have time for anything or anyone else during peak season. So weeks passed and all of a sudden i hear HapoL is leaving and I'm like, fuck, what a pity! And although i did get a little angry with myself for not having found a little bit of extra time here or there, that was the truth of things, opportunity lost. Shame. Except... almost.
Just before he left, with the birthday of a mutual friend as an excuse, HapoL was going to recite his poetry. And that, i was not going to miss. And that, i am so happy i didn't miss, because that, was something else. As the happy birthday songs and wishes and hugs and socialising bits came to a first round pause, we gathered around His Weirdness for a poetry recital, all squeezed into this small magical room of tolerant diversity where the jams take place. He said it was hot. He said please be quiet cause i need to focus. He said the energy is better that way, please sit in that direction. He said hope you enjoy. He said i need a little quiet time, he took it. He said a little more, he took it too. And then he said:
Things that are neither secret, nor hidden, nor mysterious, nor require the Yellow Pages, nor Lonely Planet guide books and much less internet or Google Maps. Things of love and loss that each one of us knows deep in our hearts but we have unfortunately forgotten. Words so true and bright and sharp and wonderfully beautiful and necessary to be heard, that rushed out his mouth like an ever changing cascade of colourful rotating verbal tetris blocks, origami shaped, contorting into their perfect creek on top of the previous one at a next-level-screen speed, with a meaning so powerful, so true, so now, that very much like in the arcade game, they erased all previous lines, leaving behind only the glow of their disappearance. And a state of awe, the one that arises from witnessing something so utterly unique and authentic that could never ever be replicated, that cannot be copied nor taught nor explained, that can only be experienced. An experience of presence through the love and intelligence that this poet prince delivers, so profound that it changes you, completely shifting your energy field into your own intelligence and love, and the one you share with all beings. I could say more, so much more. But i could never say enough, you simply had to be there. HapoL delivered a magical hour of timeless heart teachings with diamond cut word precision that left us all literally in love, of him, of us, of each other.
And then the birthday party resumed. He went back to weird in the sweetest of ways, humble, almost innocent, as if he didn't know what he had just done, or didn't care, or didn't matter... I gave him a big thanks and a bigger hug and i left to sit in love in the forest night. Some meals must be digested in solitude.
A couple of days later he departed for Germany again but before he did, he left via messenger this origami dragon for me. According to the messenger he had said: 'This is for igor. I see him as a dragon, one that carries deep darkness and delivers all the colours out of it'. Dragon cried a tear of gratitude and drew a smile of recognition, HapoL knows.
If he ever comes your way, don't hesitate, gather around him, open your ears and empty your mind and heart, they will be filled with a trillion tiny origami shaped drops of wisdom and love.