Move and Be Moved

Have you had the experience of being away from the dance long enough to feel like you had forgotten how? I just returned from such an absence and it was a bittersweet homecoming. A little bitter because my body hurts, I'm out of shape and it feels like it's going to be a long road back to that particular feeling of home- being at home in a fluid body free of pain. But so sweet to feel so well held and well loved in the circle, so included and valued and danced. And oh! I remembered how! Just to move one moment at a time, just to connect with my body where it is, to connect this moment to the next, in motion, in community, in love.
Bittersweet
hearts parting
after visits in
my heart's other home
hearts rejoining and rejoicing
in this heart home we're building
feeling home
inside and out
finding home
in me
in you
in the dance

I made some pictures during an appreciation and gifting moment that members of the tribe conspired to unleash upon Amara and Sara to show them how much we love them and the work that they do, and the community they have inspired. Perhaps one of those who hatched the plot would like to write more of that story, and the story of how the tree blanket came to be (the Love-Tree name is just how I think of it, not an official name by the artist(s)). There are more pictures, and once I figure out a better way to do it, I will post them. (V: could we create a separate gallery for them?)

I've been pondering lately about fullness/emptiness, shadow/light, separation/union and it strikes me that like being ripped open can be the opening to awareness of our inherent union, so can darkness be a generative force. Perhaps in a kind of incubating way, or as a facilitator of connection with the "shadow" within us... there is so much of the psyche to which we don't have conscious access, and darkness, dreams, and down-time (even desire and disappointment) can help to open the connections that we do have, to access the riches within us that we so rarely recognize.
Our culture is built so exclusively on that which can be seen, owned, controlled and explained that the realm of the "shadow" is cast in the role of something to be feared, shunned or ridiculed, when it is really just another facet of our humanity, another way we reflect the nature of creation. This time of limited light (especially during power outages), is ripe for exploration, celebration and validation of what is real within us.

Dancing in the dark,
Duncan

OK, first of all, it's starting to look like I'm talking to myself here, folks! Where is everybody?

So anyway, here's a little story about how I chose not to drive this evening, and felt better. I almost without fail feel better when I make the decision not to drive, and I reminded myself of that as I got into the car to drive across town to the east side coop, because they have a salad bar, and that's what I wanted for dinner. I actually spent awhile beforehand rationalizing why that was the most sensible thing to do. I got a few blocks; I was listening to the BBC news, thinking about whether I'd need to get gas, and then I got to the upper roundabout on Harrison just as a cyclist was toiling up the hill and crossing the crosswalk ahead of me. Bless that cyclist! Something just clicked inside me and I turned around and went back home, got on my bike and rode the west side coop a few blocks from my house and bought some broccoli and a yam, and made dinner at home.

There's something so insidiously habituating about driving a car. It's akin to the addiction to watching TV I think. I don't drive often, but I drove to Seattle today, and after all that time in the car it seemed like a little trip across town was nothing, a few teaspoons of fuel, a few ounces of emissions, I feel a little tired, I'll just drive this once...

I'm not meaning to preach here, because I don't think it's productive. I just had this vivid experience (once again) of how liberating and healthy and reasonable and do-able (even easy) it is to choose not to drive, if you make the choice consciously. Every time I hop on my bike to go somewhere I feel the joy of it. I'm about to turn 50 and I feel like a little kid every time I get on my bike!

It comes over me that at Waves, and perhaps in the 5Rythms, there are no strangers. We welcomed people into our midst for the weekend and with Amara's gentle guidance and each persons willingness, in the container of the dance space we became a tribe. Of course each person brings their idiosyncracies and baggage, and some strange-sounding things get spoken during the course of the workshop, but the feeling I got was that we were all just as present as we each could be, just being ourselves and being human, and each of us equally and vitally important to the whole experience.

Deepening, unfolding, challenging, engaging, softening, uplifting and sharing compassion are some words that come to mind to describe my experience. Coming to peace with what is, even if what is is not peaceful. Accepting pain, longing or some other experience of discomfort as message-bearers and gift-givers, and staying with that experience, not turning away towards the comfort of the familiar.

There were so many poignant moments in the dance, and at the potluck gathering on The Bluff. Four of us canoed out to the end of the inlet to find the sunset over Puget Sound, just as the tide was cresting. The sun was already down, the sky glowed flame-orange cyan-periwinkle-indigo. The thinnest sliver of moon rested just so, above the silhouetted trees. The herons croaked, the kingfishers cackled, the waves lapped our canoe, and we were overcome.

There are so many challenges and growth opportunities in a situation like this, it's hard to know where to begin to talk about it. One of the most challenging parts for me , living so far away, has been the uncertainty factor- basically it comes down to the question, "When will she die?" It's so ironic, because in a way, there is more certainty about her situation than there is about anyone else I know. It is certain that she will die pretty soon. Anyone else I know including myself could die at any moment- there is no certainty about how long anyone will live.

Perhaps the certainty of Peg's mortality is just the thing that awakens me to the uncertainty inherent in life, and death. I am dancing, I am dancing, I am danced...