Move and Be Moved

"Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known...."

From "Lost" by David Wagoner

The past few weeks have been about letting go -- of people I love and am in love with. And of a house I love that has been instrumental in the beginning of healing and groundedness for me.

I woke up this morning with the words "let go, let go, let go" repeating in my head. First the words started to sound funny, foreign. And then I started to think about the dictionary definition of the words, what each word literally means. "Let" as in allow. "Go" as in move. Allow movement. Allow it to move. Allow the people I love to move. Allow myself to move. Move in a different direction, in a different rhythm, in a different current. Not necessarily move away. Just move.

If the body does not lie
mine says I love you
every time we dance.

The previous posts and photos from John and Duncan lead me to post this writing from Rumi, which I have just read. There are no coincidences. Just connectedness, grace.

A Song of Being Empty

A certain sufi tore his robe in grief,
and the tearing brought such relief,

he gave the robe the name faraji,
which means ripped open, or happiness,
or one who brings the joy of being opened.

It comes from the stem faraj, which also
refers to the genitals, male and female.

His teacher understood the purity
of the action, while others
just saw the ragged appearance.

If you want peace and purity,
tear away your coverings.

This is the purpose of emotion, to let
a streaming beauty flow through you.

Call it spirit, elixir, or the original
agreement between yourself and God.

Opening into that gives peace,
a song of being empty,
pure silence.

Rumi

Last night in the hours I could not sleep,
I thought of dance.
Dance -- where, for me, the spiritual meets the sensual;
where I make myself wide open and fearless;
where I am willing and wanting to receive and to give
again and again.
Where I want to drape my body and soul all over the floor, on every wall.
Where I am home.
Is it any wonder why I love it? Why I love you? Why I love you all?

I was flipping through my clay journal recently. I call it a "clay journal" because that's where I sketch out ideas I have for future pots, pieces living in my imagination (most of them never get made, by the way). But it's really a life journal because I also use it to scribble my thoughts and experiences. Now that I think about it, all my thoughts and experiences have something to do with clay even if I don't consciously realize it. Clay is the earth, and therefore life itself. In fact, now that I think about it, all my thoughts and experiences have something to do with dance too. Dance is breath itself.

But I digress. I was flipping through my clay journal and came across this list I wrote called: "Things to Remember In Clay." The first item I wrote on the list was: "Don't cheat the process."

I started thinking about that again. Don't cheat the process. And of course I was reminded that this is applicable not just to working with clay, but in everything -- in my dance, in my work, in my partnership. Have faith in the effort. Have faith in the process. That is where the sweat happens. That is where the seeing and hearing and listening occurs. That is where the love blooms. When I have faith in the process itself, it gives me strength in this world of uncertainty, this unchartered journey.

I am amazed at the mystery in life. I believe that when I open myself up, which requires letting go of fear as much as I can, I find that I get what I need. I flipped open a page of Sweat Your Prayers this morning, after waking up but before wanting to get out of bed. I normally don't just open whatever book is by my bedside, but this morning for some reason, I felt the urge to. The book opened to page 120:

"Form without substance is a hollow shell; substance without form is an artist's hell....To feel without expressing is to be imprisoned; to express without feeling is performance....To seek the truth you must be innocent; the moment you stop seeking, you lose your innocence."

And a quote from Joseph Chilton Pearce:

"To love a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong."

This page is exactly what I needed to read at this very moment. And when I read it, I felt like this dance community that I've grown to love and deeply honor was with me, right at that moment. It was a gift.

Since I started dancing, the relationship between me and my body has been shifting. I appreciate so much more now what my body can do for me, the ways it can move or not move, the way it stretches, bends and twists for me. And I love the way it tells me what it needs even if I don't want to listen.

In the middle of a Sweat, when my outer self can be moving and groving and so heavily into chaos that my brain is actually quiet, suddenly my bladder speaks its mind and demands a minute or two of attention. I always find it peculiar and funny when this happens. My whole body can be so immersed in the dance that my head finally empties and my heart bursts...and yet the practical parts of the body are on their own little wave, doing their own little thing. Just a funny and lovely little observation...

As part of my employment (how I make money, but not necessarily who I am), I spent all day yesterday at the state Ethics Conference. There was much discussion about ethics in the public sector, how elected officials conduct themselves, and codes of conduct. It got me thinking about ethics in dance, if there is such a thing. There seems to be some unspoken code of conduct to a certain degree -- be respectful, etc. -- and that code is similar to the way we are expected to conduct ourselves in everyday life.

I like the fact that there are no "rules" posted and that we take our cues from our bodies, our gut, our intuition on the dance floor. I like that it can get murky and gray too.

I love to physically connect with other bodies during the dance. I often find myself wanting to go up to dancers and place a hand on their back or embrace them for a moment or lean on them and give them my weight. Yet, if I don't know the person well or haven't contact danced with them before, I more often than not hold back. In fact, I'm always holding back in that department. And there's the mental chatter in my head when I find myself holding back. Questions arise like "Would it be offensive to that person? Or disrepectful of their space?" So I take my cues from my center because that's the most I can ask of myself and I trust that my actions, no matter what they look like to anyone else, come from a place of deep respect for the dance and the other dancer. I like that there are not set "rules" in the dance. I like that it is an ever evolving animal. I like that it is ambiguious sometimes and sometimes crystal clear.