Finding My Dakini Suit
One day during the Spring 2018 PSY residency at Goddard College, I set off to Montpelier, Vermont with two fellow students, in search of the red dress I thought I wanted. Instead, to my great surprise, I pulled a WWII nurse's uniform off the rack of the vintage clothing store we'd gravitated towards. My friend Deanne, standing next to me, said with interest, "You were drawing that this morning." Then my friend Kimberly, coming over from across the store, volunteered the same observation. I realized that what they saw was true: that morning, I had traced my left hand in red on a sheet of blue paper, and then surrounded it with a field of red crosses in white circles.
I could feel the little hairs standing up on my arms and neck, in the way that they do when the Universe is about to get plain with me about what It wants. I looked at the uniform skeptically: as a six-foot woman, not much vintage clothing ever fits me. My friends looked back at me as though to say, "Come on, let's see this thing! What are you so afraid of?" I sighed, went into the changing alcove, pulled the red velvet curtains shut, and shucked the various layers of woolies that March in Vermont so clearly demands.
Button by button, the dress enveloped my body, as though specifically made for me. I felt a combination of relief and trepidation. I was freed from the vague specter of the Glamorous Sexy Lady that a red dress would have entailed. And yet – what was this garment for? What would it ask of me? It had Healer in it, that much was clear. Also Warrior, Worker, Blood, Birth, and Death. I knew I had my work cut out for me.
I resolved to sew on the dress every day, invoking imagery from the Dakinis of Tibetan Buddhism – fierce, embodied feminine wisdom deities – as I went along. I named the dress my Warrior Suit/Healer Suit, and resolved to make daily photographs of its transformations, and my own. Finally, I resolved to write a bit each day from the perspective of what was arising.
I could feel the little hairs standing up on my arms and neck, in the way that they do when the Universe is about to get plain with me about what It wants. I looked at the uniform skeptically: as a six-foot woman, not much vintage clothing ever fits me. My friends looked back at me as though to say, "Come on, let's see this thing! What are you so afraid of?" I sighed, went into the changing alcove, pulled the red velvet curtains shut, and shucked the various layers of woolies that March in Vermont so clearly demands.
Button by button, the dress enveloped my body, as though specifically made for me. I felt a combination of relief and trepidation. I was freed from the vague specter of the Glamorous Sexy Lady that a red dress would have entailed. And yet – what was this garment for? What would it ask of me? It had Healer in it, that much was clear. Also Warrior, Worker, Blood, Birth, and Death. I knew I had my work cut out for me.
I resolved to sew on the dress every day, invoking imagery from the Dakinis of Tibetan Buddhism – fierce, embodied feminine wisdom deities – as I went along. I named the dress my Warrior Suit/Healer Suit, and resolved to make daily photographs of its transformations, and my own. Finally, I resolved to write a bit each day from the perspective of what was arising.
Unknowable Unfolding
I began in deep March snow and am ending with a mandala of red garden raspberries resting in the palm of my hand. In between, I have been through countless states of heart-mind (a few of which would have had me believe that they were permanent and intractable) and completed a full research cycle. Daily practice, in this case, has meant keeping a record of my own transformations, my intertwining with the Dakinis, in tandem with transformations in the world and other beings. Whether we pay attention to them or not, we are always engaged in rituals that shape our days. Through this research, through my meditation practice, through allowing the shape of the Suit to emerge and shape me, I have been choosing to pay a fierce and gentle attention.
I have learned much from unknowable unfolding of the Warrior Suit/Healer Suit and my larger thesis project. Yes, I set the parameters: Suit, interviews, transcriptions, writing, reading, analysis, timeline. From within this container, I committed to see what emerged, without fear or manipulation, and I know now that something true has come forth on its own terms. The Karma family, within the Dakini Mandala practice framework, has air as its element and green as its color. In its obstructed form, Karma energy shows up as neurotic speed, striving, and envy. Awakened, that same energy becomes all-accomplishing wisdom. I look out from the back porch at Wonderwell Mountain Refuge, the retreat center where I often go for contemplative study and practice, and see this year's millions of green leaves tossing in the wind, on the branches of trees at the edge of the field. No one said, "Hurry up, leaves!" Or, "Grow this way, leaves!" And yet, it is all accomplished in its true forms and stages.
I have learned much from unknowable unfolding of the Warrior Suit/Healer Suit and my larger thesis project. Yes, I set the parameters: Suit, interviews, transcriptions, writing, reading, analysis, timeline. From within this container, I committed to see what emerged, without fear or manipulation, and I know now that something true has come forth on its own terms. The Karma family, within the Dakini Mandala practice framework, has air as its element and green as its color. In its obstructed form, Karma energy shows up as neurotic speed, striving, and envy. Awakened, that same energy becomes all-accomplishing wisdom. I look out from the back porch at Wonderwell Mountain Refuge, the retreat center where I often go for contemplative study and practice, and see this year's millions of green leaves tossing in the wind, on the branches of trees at the edge of the field. No one said, "Hurry up, leaves!" Or, "Grow this way, leaves!" And yet, it is all accomplished in its true forms and stages.