I was walking through a dry field one January afternoon when I came upon a downed limb of dried, bleached out palm fronds. They were a far cry from the graceful green ones that most of us see swaying in the soft summer breeze.
But they were exquisite, twisting and turning in on themselves, so much energy and movement coming from their stagnant position flat against the stiff winter grass. Yet within that energy, there it was. A still point. A place of rest and peace and inner knowing. Somehow.
Stillpoint explores that sacred place we seek where form and energy reveal a higher place of being. Moving yet still. Interconnected yet separate. Tension and release.
"Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance." T.S.Eliot