Move and Be Moved

I've been sick with a nasty cold for over a week. I missed last Monday night's 5Rhythyms session because of it. I was registered to attend Sara's "Motion, Rhythm, and Life" workshop today, but after spending the morning helping some friends and doing very light physical work I realized that my energy tank was empty. These colds tend to linger far beyond what one expects. It was apparent that I could not and should not try to spend the next six hours dancing, so I canceled.

For the last few weeks my dance experience has been less than joyful. Mostly due to a niggling knee problem with its persistent, relatively minor yet nagging pain, I have been unable to let myself go into the dance and enjoy the simple freedom of movement of my body. When I got home today after having called someone to tell them that I would not be at the dance workshop I found myself to be deeply disappointed. It wasn't so much missing the opportunity to dance as to not be with the people. I had been so looking forward to seeing my regular dancing friends and perhaps other friends from out of town, that to miss that experience was very painful. It made me realize what a precious resource my dance community is. The dance itself is the common bond, but the community provides love and acceptance that I rarely find anywhere else.

In a sense, then, I am grateful for this miserable little virus that grips my body because it has shown me through deprivation how meaningful my dance community is to me and how deeply connected I feel to the people in it. As I've said before in these pages, there's a lot of love in that room and today I missed it more than ever.

When I tell people that the 5Rhythms practice has changed my life I'm finding that more of them want to know how.

The dance has allowed me to crack through the encrusted layers of fear, denial, and neglect of who I am to liberate the voices, the music, the poetry, the courage, the fearlessness, the willingness to stand in the storm, face full into the wind and not be afraid, but rather to drink it in, to say this is life, this is my life, and I will hide it no more; I will never again let it go.

Julie's beautiful insight of our "response to perception" reminded me of the following: A few months ago I was struggling with two different directions to go, fearing that I'd have to give up one dream to follow the other. A friend then told me, "Dreams don't have to compete." What a gift.

For the last couple of weeks I have been encountering this phrase over and over again, unexpectedly, and I've wondered why. At the same time I've been stressing about many things I want to accomplish and wondering how in the world I'm going to do it all. I awoke yesterday realizing that again I had two dreams and one seemed to be getting in the way of the other. Was it time to give one of them up? I thought about it all day--what should I do? That evening I found myself suddenly staring at this same wonderful phrase where I had posted it on the wall. Ah, that's why I needed to be reminded of this. Now is the time to apply it.

As I relaxed about my situation I began to realize other things as well. I always have the availability of divine inspiration to give me ideas about how to proceed. Information, inspiration, is in constant flow around me. There are no times when Spirit is not working or giving me direction. But when I begin to think that nothing's going on, that once again I have a problem that seems to have no solution, I'm not seeing truly. The truth is that I am one with Spirit and my mind is connected to God's. So how can there ever be a time when nothing is happening? There can't. I am always being guided by the thoughts of God because God is always thinking. I always know what to do, I just don't always know that I know because I'm not paying attention.

Jack Kornfield says that when we see the endless mental stories of fear and judgment that repeat over and over, we can, through mindfulness, "let them go and relax, steady the mind, and return to the present." When I steady my mind, return to center, and change my perception, I know what to do.

When I dance from the inside out, I don't know what's coming next, but I trust that it's okay and good. Sometimes what comes is something that I want to stay in for a while. It's comfortable. It feels good and right. Sometimes what comes is a bridge to a greater thing.

All change creates tension, which give opportunity for fear, anger, pulling in. There is an equal opportunity for adventure, for new discovery, for trusting the unknown.

How can you trust what is not known? In the end, you just do. You take a leap, you let go. It is our fear that generates more fear. It is the openness of heart, mind, and spirit that seeks and finds new light.

We walk through doors, climb through windows, and cross over bridges. This is how we move. We trust ourselves, our feet, our hearts, and those around us who help hold the space. And we dance forever from the inside out.

I want to share a passage from a book called I Am the Door by Paul Ferrini. These words challenge me about how I live my life. I hear the dance and the lessons we learn in the dance all through them--the dance, healing, our community:

Healing Our Wounds

For many people, it is easier to let others see the pasteboard mask than the contorted face behind it. They are proud of the spiritual adult, but ashamed of the wounded child.

However, those who have the courage to face their pain pull the mask away. They give themselves permission to be authentic and to grow. Their willingness to be emotionally present with what they are feeling opens a sacred passageway. Closed hearts start to pulsate, bodies begin to breathe, and blocked energies are released. This is the first step in the healing process.

Other steps follow, for healing means movement. It doesn’t mean falling in love with pain, holding onto it, or building an identity around it. It is not a stationary train, but a moving one. Once you get on it, it takes you where you need to go.

Pain is the great equalizer. It enables you to be honest and authentic. It empowers you to ask for unconditional love and support from others and to be willing to offer the same in return. It connects you with a healing community of human beings whose shells of denial are cracking.

Sitting in meditation, mind wandering, coming back to breath--starting over again; you get to start over again; forgiveness over and over. How nice.

Overachievers try too hard, they're goal-oriented, not in the moment. In yoga, they reach for the pose. That's in the future, not now. Breathing is now, reaching this inch is now. Arriving at that point is not now, it is then. It doesn't exist.

My work mind has shifted from seeing and fearing the end to working steadily each day. Same with studying. It's not about a degree, it's about learning invaluable things. I look forward to opening this book and reading more about the mind and the psyche. I want to do it more.

What has changed? I am now more open. How? Let go of the goals, my ideas of what should be. I have to live with what is, so I might as well get comfortable with it. Does that mean I can never change anything or that it's not okay to want something else, like a better life, more money, a newer car? No, those are fine, but don't invest all your present energy in them. If you want to accomplish something, see it and believe it. At the same time, know what is. Be with today, this hour, this moment. Accept it as the only truth that exists. And keep moving, but at peace. You are neither worried that you'll fail nor distracted by the idea of what lies ahead. You are present, powerful, and peaceful.

Have you ever thought about how quietly potent the truth of "I AM" is? In our pure essence we don't have to describe ourselves with adjectives: I am good, I am bad, I am lazy, I am smart, I am stupid, I am God, I am worthless, etc. Consider the elegance of the simple bare truth that I am. I am what? Do you really need the what? I am.

When Moses met God at the burning bush he asked, "What is your name?" God answered, "I AM THAT I AM." I am. Period. I exist. When you realize that you simply exist, you know that you have the intrinsic right to do so.

Who are you when you dance? How do you describe yourself? I am a good dancer. I am a clumsy dancer. I am a sexy dancer. I am a fluid dancer. How about I am a dancer. I am my dancer. I am. That's really it. You are no one else but yourself, dancing your own private creation that comes out of who you are. Your dance is you. It is one with you. It is an outward expression of you. It says, "I am."

Who are you at work, or stressed out, or at play, or making love, or drinking coffee, or chatting with a friend, or staring eyeball to eyeball with an emboldened sea gull at Percival Landing? Who are you? You are. Period.

The I am is free, safe, at peace, joyful, wide open. No need for ornaments.

I received a vision this morning while meditating and I wanted to share it because I think its meaning extends to all of us. I saw globe sitting on a flat surface like a table. There was a gouge in the globe, nearly a quarter of it taken out. The inside was hollow. The globe’s color was gold, but it was dull. There were jewels embedded in its surface, and there were strings of jewels and pearls draped on it and covering the entire surface of the table. As I watched, the globe began to turn; the strings of pearls and jewels began moving also, converging on this wound in the globe. Then the edges of the wound began to soften like wax on a burning candle. The wound filled in and the globe became whole. Its color brightened up until it was no longer dull, but gleaming. It began to glow, radiating its beautiful golden light outward to all the world.

This was a vision of healing and it is no coincidence that the healing took place in the presence of motion. I believe that one of the gifts that the dance gives us is healing of our hearts and lives. Our movement through the 5 rhythms certainly creates freedom and healing. But there's more to it than just the movement. In my vision the jewels represented for me the innumerable loving beings that surround me. This includes family and friends and of course the community of dancers of which I am a part. As we continue to participate in this practice we touch not only our deep inner selves, but each other--physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It is inspiration, love, and healing all rolled into one. Gradually, the edges of our lives soften, the wounds begin to heal, we gleam, and the light shines again. How absolutely wonderful!

I've complained about my aching right knee long enough, now I've done something about it. Recovering from knee surgery includes spending loads of time laying on the couch with one leg on a pile of pillows. It gets old, but it also gives me time to read and think about life.

One of the things I read was a real eye-opening interview with Michael J. Fox. The reporter asked him what his secret was to staying so positive when Parkinson's Diseaase had robbed him of what his life used to be. His response was very profound. He said that while he mourned the loss of pure spontaneity in his life, " . . . what I found was that if you just kind of relax for a second and see what comes into that space, something will come into it. There are no vacuums. And when you see that happen, it's amazing. So if you are in a place in your life, whether it's Parkinson's or whatever it is, you can fret about it all you want but at a certain point, you just have to relax. And that opens all kinds of doors for you."

You just have to relax and that open all kinds of doors for you. An old truth, arrived at from a different angle. I couldn't help but see the analogy to the dance. When I program my dance, when I plan how I will move, I may feel good about it, but I will have missed the delicious gifts that are there within me, gifts of movement that my spirit, my true self, generates all on its own, without the need of ego's conscious planning or control. I give up my own need to control the outcome--which is often dictated by outside forces--relax, and something else, something better, fills the space. Someone remarked at the Monday night class this week that she was dancing her own dance and it felt so good. It was true; I could see the freedom in her motion and on her face as she danced.

This truth extends to life itself. It’s like the Buddhist idea of beginner’s mind: open to what’s next without having to know what’s next. Letting Life fill its own void, allowing Spirit to guide by being.

This has nothing to do directly with dancing, but everything to do with Spirit and Life. It was written by an aquaintance of mine, an abbot at a Zen center in New Mexico where I attended a training. I think there is something here for everyone. For clarification, the reference to "horno" is to a meat smoker. The second paragraph of this poem is particularly rich for me. I hope that something in this touches you:

xmas in a zen center, notes on why i live dangerously

it is unfathomable
a zen center celebrates xmas

done it for years,
because it is unfathomable.
we'd rather drop into a measureless sea
than be stranded by dry ideas

cooking a feast for all foundlings
eating, singing, remembering, then dying into the night

the taste of sadness
a season reminding us of our individual “thens�?
hard or not, near or far-gone,
some of us orphans, all of us to be soon.

the joy of friends gathered
the gratitude to be able to do this at all
in a world where so many will not or cannot

the crazy young man, smelling of wood smoke and old clothes, comes through the door
squatting on the floor, stocking cap holding down wiry hair, blue eyes not focussing
another youth with muslim beard and white cap, nameless, appears at the table
and the elders and young ones holding onto each other
through their open eyed kind glances

the afroamerican zen man sings o holy night
the white man sings on the road back home
harold littlebird's tewa buddhist words

we eat food born
from the smoke smudged snow covered horno

after singing into the darkness
make our way into the pinon charged air

we cannot forget this world,
torn about by dogs of war,
the utter briefness of our lives here
james brown gone
the raw and gravel left with us
and the treasure of friendship
on this ship of practice

I spent Christmas Eve with my extended family. It was a very difficult time. I spent much of the evening feeling like a stranger, a foreigner. It was painful and I found myself lost in those painful feelings. It wasn’t until the next evening, while I was dancing, that I figured out what had happened: I lost my center. In fact I lost it so badly that I didn’t even know that that’s what had happened. Somehow being around my family knocked me out of my center so that I could no longer feel connected to who I was. I could only define myself according to my old tribal laws. As a result I was not only disconnected from myself, but also from all the others in the room. All I could think about were the old issues, the pain, the rejection, the feelings of unworthiness, the self-doubt. All of it running over me, smothering me, drowning me in a tidal wave of self-pity, regret, and shame. Then, at the dance, I not only realized what had happened, but I actually found my center again. I gave myself to the music, the beat, and the rhythm. I connected with myself and I danced the anger and the sadness. I was no longer me-as-compared-to-someone-else, I was just me. And as I reestablished my connection to self I found that I was open to others. Almost automatically and without effort I connected with another person. And we danced a beautiful, tender dance of giving and receiving, back and forth, quiet, peaceful, loving, accepting.

I read this quote today from Carl Jung: “People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls" (Dreams, p. 174). He was referring external practices, whether religious, metaphysical, or purely physical, which people engage as ways of healing and/or spiritual growth. But apart from possible physical benefits, unless one is willing to face what’s deep in their own soul, such exercises amount to merely going through the motions with no appreciative improvement in psychic health. It’s possible to use the dance that way, too, but that would be a tragic waste of a valuable tool. If I understand it correctly the movement of the body through the 5 rhythms creates a channel through which we may touch our very souls. What’s there in the depths for each of us that we're reluctant to face? Parts of us that have been rejected and made secret by trauma, perhaps, parts that wish to be reclaimed, brought into the light, not to harm us, but to free legitimate sections of our being that have been banished to the darkness out of fear? These pieces of our lives long to be brought into the glorious light of consciousness and expressed.

It’s not about the pain itself, it’s about who we are, damn it!

Don't get me wrong--the dance does not take the place of therapy. Dealing with past trauma often needs the guidance of a trained counselor and I’m not suggesting that people abandon therapy in favor of dancing the 5Rhythms. But Jung’s statement got me thinking about what things are there that I’m just unwilling to face, things that I might touch through the dance if I allow it. Dreams, desires, my own unique ways of expressing myself that have been shunned and put away because someone else found them unacceptable? Whatever pieces there are of myself that have become hidden, for whatever reasons, they are me and I want them back.

There is order in life. There is order in my life and that order exists at the center of my being. When I am centered I experience that sense of order. The problem is that 99% of the time I allow myself to be pulled off-center by outer circumstances. It doesn't matter what it is--worry about my body, a paper due this weekend, a jaw-clenching phone call from a relative, a problem at work, or even something so innocent as wondering what the person dancing next to me is thinking--any one of them can pull me into a state of concern or worry and I forget about my center. Suddenly these peripheral issues become all important and I have once again wandered into uncertainty, doubt, and stress.

When I live from my center, life works. I have access to wisdom, guidance, and creative ideas. And I have confidence that the decisions I make from that place are right ones; my course is clear.

In the dance I have the perfect opportunity to practice finding my center and to feel what it is like to operate from that place. I also have the perfect opportunity to experience falling off-center. If I dance from my mind I am concerned about how I look, about doing it "right," about what other people think, about whether or not I'm going to hurt myself. There are endless ways that I can be distracted. My movements are tentative, programmed, limited. But when I dance from my center I am free, at ease, and filled with the sheer joy of movement that is unjudged and totally mine. My body moves with ease and grace. My movements are spontaneous, bold, creative, and free. I dance with joy.

It seems that when people who've danced in Olympia go away for a while and then return, they always say the same thing: they've danced in many differnt places, but there's something special about our space here at Waves. I haven't danced the 5Rhythms anywhere else, but I might know what these travelers are talking about. My exeperience is that there is a lot of love in that room and the dance creates, sometimes, an atmosphere of lovingness—tenderness, intimacy, touch, connection through the eyes and the smiles. It comes during the dance, lingers as we enjoy the luxuriousness of stillness together, and then, as we all walk out the door, the scent of it remains, flavoring the heart.

I think that it is this experience that is so valuable. It’s not that I have learned something cognitive. It’s that I have experienced and discovered something, something new. Connecting to another human in this way, even if it’s only temporary, participates in the flow of love through the heart and in that sense it’s like the dance itself—learning to move according to the promptings of the non-mind. I learn to unfreeze my spirit without having to pass it through my mind first. I allow my body to move without thinking about it or analyzing. I can analyze it, sure, but I do that as the observer, not as the participant.

Duncan's photo, "light wave" and his comment,
"relaxing into the great unknown...
knowing only that it is always in motion"
made me think of floating on my back down a river, willing to let the flow of the water take me wherever it would, trusting that I'd always be safe. You can't always count on that in a real river, but you can in the river of life. We're most at peace and we make the fastest progress when we give ourselves to the motion of the flow, trusting that wherever it takes us is good. Dancing is the same and is also a great metaphor for life. When I dance there are moments when I let my body go its own way, following a flow of energy through a channel that only my soul knows. I have to turn off my brain and trust that the movement I'm in is just the right thing at just the right time. And in those moments I am truly relaxing into the great unknown, riding the light wave. It's so cool!

Thank you, Duncan.

By all reasonable criteria I should have stayed in bed this morning. When I went to bed Saturday night after a day and a half of Body School, I felt pretty banged up. My feet and calves were sore, my knee had been aching for 2 days, and to top it off I got this monster hamstring cramp that refused to be stretched out for the longest time. No, there was no need to push it. Just sleep in.

But I woke up around 7 and found myself thinking about how wonderful it would feel to be gliding around on the dance floor to the gentler strains of Early Wave music--so free and so meditative. Then I found this phrase in my head, almost like the news blips that float across the bottom of the TV screen on CNN. It was "the music of the body in motion." It kept repeating itself.

So I decided I'd rather dance than sleep.

I went down to the studio and began to dance. And to my suprise and delight, I had no pain. I had tape on my feet, my calves were fine, and my knee didn't hurt at all! It was a great start to what turned out to be a fabulous day of dancing and connecting with so many beautiful people. I'm so glad I got that wake up call.

The other morning I read the following from Practicing the Awakened Self Prayer: “I accept I am God’s dream realized, here to express what needs to be.� That idea—that I am here to express what needs to be—popped into my head again later that day as I drove on the freeway. When I remembered it, my mind immediately went into “good person� mode. I began thinking in terms of how to follow a more enlightened set of rules . . . then I stopped (my mind, not the car!) and thought, no, it’s not about ordering your behavior according to a set of rules, it’s about knowing what’s in your heart and following that. To become familiar with that inner voice from which springs wisdom, love, and compassion, and to respond to the promptings of that voice is what I need to do. That’s how I learn to express “what needs to be.� How often I merely switch from one set of rules to another. I engage my self-centered, fear-based ideas of how to behave, then something inspires me to switch to “spiritual� rules and I try to behave differently. In either case I’m acting. I need to dig below the level of rules, get into my heart, and find the truth of who I am, who I’m supposed to be in this world, feel it, and let it come out. That is the way I serve truth, self, and others best.

The dance provides an ideal format for prospecting for reality. The goal is not to imitate the moves of those around me, but to find my own inner promptings and let my body move according to what’s inside me. Expressing what needs to be is just as real on the dance floor as it is in the office or on the freeway. And just as important. We are such beautiful, wonderful, beings in our core yet over the years we’ve covered that glory over with learned behavior, prejudice, fear, and doubt. The dance opens the door to freedom and the opportunity to find that which needs to be.

I met four new men tonight at Sweat Your Prayers. I've seen them before, even danced with them on occasion. But I didn't know their names, until tonight. Thanks, guys!

Amara recently shared that when Gabrielle was in Olympia she taught about how to "slow dance with the chaos so dominant in our world today." That statement reminds me of what I do sometimes during Chaos in the dance. When I'm not feeling enough energy to dance fast and hard during Chaos I'll try to find a slower rhythm that complements all the wildness that is there in the music. And usually the music itself, as if to accomodate my need, gives me that slow rhythm. I can find a beat that is constant, steady, and slow and that actually supports the frenzy that is also there in the song. I can hear the driving energy and feel it, but when I need to I can dance slower and still be in synch with Chaos. It's beautiful how that works.

Sometimes the dance is an enigma to me. Only because I’m a newcomer to the 5Rhythms I wonder what kinds of emotions people experience as they dance. At first I did not feel much of anything. I was too occupied with the whole idea of letting go of my inhibitions. I was thinking, analyzing, wondering if I was doing it right. Then I realized that I simply enjoyed moving. I reveled in being able to flail my arms and shift my feet, to twist and turn and glide and twirl just because I felt like it. When I do that I feel like a kid running free in the park. Moving freely brings joy out of my heart and a smile to my face.

But I wonder—is there more? I know that joy is not the only thing rattling around inside me. There is also sadness, fear, and anger. Does that come out in the dance, too? Perhaps I have not discovered that aspect of it yet. Or, maybe, through movement, freedom, and release, my sadness is transformed into joy. I really don’t know, I just wonder . . .

I can't stand still anymore, especially when music is playing. I mean it. 5Rhythms has infected me with . . . motion. When I'm browsing in the bookstore and I hear the music over the sound system my hips start to move, then my shoulders, then my feet. It's hard to read book titles when you're doing that. The other day I took my iPod with me to go running. When the beat started so did my arms and hands. I tried not to be too obvious about it since there were others around and I didn't want to alarm them, but I wished I were alone on the track. At least when I ran where the sun was behind me I got to see my shadow making small moves to the music. I never imagined this would happen. It's terrible. Ha, ha, ha . . .

In the Deep Waves class tonight Amara asked us to name the thing we fear most in relationship. Mine was fear of losing myself. Then she asked us to find some personal space in the room and, without music, touch that fear within us and let it express itself through the movement of our bodies. My feet immediately took me away from the people and into a corner. When she asked us to give the feeling more expression I found myself not so much dancing, but pacing back and forth, pacing in the corner like a caged lion. I didn't like it; I wanted to be free.

I thought, what do I do with this fear? Can I just release it and have it be gone? No. Our fears are part of who we are. We don't simply dismiss them and not have to deal with them anymore. We must accept them, welcome them, give them space in our lives. Not to control us, but to teach us. The movement of my body in this dance tonight taught me that I want to be free, that at a deep level I am not content to be put in a corner. I belong out there where everyone can see who I am.

While I was running yesterday morning the analogy of the wave finally hit me. I’m sure that what I’m about to write has been written countless times before, but I’m fairly new to the 5Rhythms and haven’t seen these ideas in print yet, so I’ll write them.

Before the wave can even be seen it is there. It is part of the sea, moving, flowing towards the shore, powerful, graceful, and quiet. As the sea floor begins to rise the wave begins to build. It gradually gathers its energy, pulsing forward with a staccato beat. As its base compresses it rises higher and higher until it can contain itself no more. Then it comes crashing down onto the beach with a shattering, chaotic roar. It surges up the sand until it can go no further, and then, its energy spent, stops ever so briefly then begins to recede and melt back into the sea. It retreats in lyrical softness and just before the next wave comes crashing down there is that moment of stillness . . . and peace.