Dirt

A few days ago I sat in my garden courtyard, looked at the sliding glass windows, and saw my father's eyes looking back at me.  It's like origami, the pressures of the past year released from my bones so that supple, multiplicities of beneficence have folded themselves up into a tiny thread, aveoli upon aveoli, at the core of being.  That day I walked to the store, radiant in a sundress, and planted sunflower and nasturtiums from seed, lettuces, strawberries, and little white violas from starts.  Mathias placed a huge number of crystals in and around the lettuces, and aurora held each tiny leaf of the flowering seedlings, both fresh.

Did you hear that winter’s over? The basil
and the carnations cannot control their

laughter. The nightingale, back from his
wandering, has been made singing master

over the birds. The trees reach out their
congratulations. The soul goes dancing

through the king’s doorway. Anemones blush
because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the
courtroom, and several December thieves steal

away, Last year’s miracles will soon be
forgotten. New creatures whirl in from non-

existence, galaxies scattered around their
feet. Have you met them? Do you hear the

bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle? A single
narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector

of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen: the
wind is pouring wine! Love used to hide

inside images: no more! The orchard hangs
out its lanterns. The dead come stumbling by

in shrouds. Nothing can stay bound or be
imprisoned. You say, “End this poem here,

and wait for what’s next.” I will. Poems
are rough notations for the music we are.

~Mevlana Rumi~

Today I lay in the dirt among my rosebushes, soaking up warmth, gently chanting the names of saints.  I like dirt.  I like the grit and the realism and the insects, these too are part of beneficence.  The daffodils are dying now, their yellow scent upon the wind paving the way for other flourishes...open and soft.

Hu

Balance

Balance is not a static state, it is a state of continual adjustment.  When maintaining physical balance all the tiny muscles of the foot synergistically shift from one stress point to another, spreading and pulling weight across arches into toes down to the earth up the calves and along the femur into wide hips in constant transfer.  Attention to this level of balance is prophetic for minute transformation, as physical transfer down to the cellular level is tracked.  It is one of my favorite ways to move, with slow steady awareness and outrageous timeless risk.  However, there are many ways to be in the world and the works I shared last week stretched my sense of balance to maturity in new ways.  

A Heart in Flames made me move fast, huge, tracing the borders of containment, barely held together by flesh, bursting out of pattern.  Alot of anger came out!  Alot of joy!  I kicked my own ass and it too was prophetic, exhausting stubborn attachments and tilling the blueprint of Hannah into fresh crumbly soil.

Grief was *lovely*, so so lovely.  Not a sound was heard, suspended in gorgeous imagery and gentle pulsing of energies universal into the fabric of our bodies, props, and individual stories, we succeeded in balancing depths with concrete moments of stillness.

Tenderness was off balance.  As a professional art maker I really struggle when this happens, when perfection is too elusive, nowhere close enough to catch a wisp of her as she slides in and out of sight, when she refuses to reveal herself.  As the leader of my troupe it's up to me, to grounding my state of inner balance for the energies at hand, and when I take risks that are real risks, beyond the physical, I have to get ok when sometimes I flutter, when sometimes I harvest weeds. 

This three days after performance week mania love I rest, reflect, and remember that many Japanese flower arrangements have an ugly gorgeous out of place weed placed in the bunch.  Notice this lovely example by Junko, a flower artist working and living in London, the dead yellow leaf providing exquisite symmetry to the other obvious beauties.  I should like to have my falls be so poetic.

And really, if I have 60+ years of making work ahead of me, it really is nice to fall sometimes, to find new ground and experience surprises.  

I am open to surprise and delight in its many varied manifestations, yoked within my cellular being, that all comes not just to the good, but to the joy.

In closing, a poem by Jay Ramsay, local transcendentalist: 

I saw a great light come down over London,
And buildings and cars and people were still
They were held wherever they were under the sky’s
Clear humming radiance as it descended –
Everywhere, in shops, behind desks and on trains
Everything stopped as the stillness came down
And touched the crown of our heads
As our eyes closed, and the sky filled us
And our minds became the sky –
And everyone, regardless of crime class or creed
Was touched; as slowly we began to stir
Out of this penetrated light-filled sleep
Dizzily as the hand completed its dialing,
And the train lurched forward
And I saw faces looking at one another questioning,
I saw people meeting eye to eye and standing
Half amazed by each other’s presence
I saw their mouths silently shaping the word why
Why didn’t we know this? and yet knowing
They already knew, and without words
We all stood searching for the gesture
That would say it –

Ohm into~

(photos and video clips on the way..) 

Midnight Oil

Bright shiny morning greets us, my dancers and I.  We have been up all night preparing for next weeks shows, and will rehearse most of the day tomorrow.  Tissue paper roses, revisions of monologues, changes in music choices, re-conception of pieces according to who we are today.  Depth work at the processual level.  

This past week has been huge for this body, huge for this heart, huge for this creative self, for through the studio of life I/we have reached and reached and reached until fingers eyes shadows just won't grow anymore.  In my work I do not show pieces, I do not entertain, I do not show off for the sake of an adoring witness.  I am a shaman, as are my dancers, and all of this is new to all of us.  

In grief it is collective grief that courses through us, paved on the circuits of our own real processes.  In tenderness it is the sweet so sugary it hurts that cracks the child egg and allows life to flow forth.  In passion it is an all over new discovery of self as woman self as alive self as beating powerful rhythm which emerges from the plunge into embryonic implantation. It is tsunami here, tender eyes there, broken students, cooking food, firm decisions, hungry self.  It is three dances.  Three years.  Three years ago today we made the solid decision to move to England.

Each show is a vortex of vast potentialities...riding these waves is joy in motion, humanity in action, conscious co-creation.  I am wonderfully blessed to have such rich material and amazing committed dancers to surf with.  Thank you.

I Insist

Ahh we come now to the bend of ascension through Earth and Fire.  There are lots of hills and valleys, switchbacks and beautiful vistas on the human journey.  Once again: clear boundaries, exceptional will power, stamina, sheer belief in the impossibility of failure, vertical realities.  It has been 3 years now of this.  And new habits are finally taking root.  We humans, we learn very very slowly ;-)

In the newspaper today I read about the new release of my favorite hop-hop artist, Lupe Fiasco.  It's a hidden/not hidden metaphorical/literal manifesto of his most recent struggle.  I relate.  In the major uphill of legalese I walked last autumn Lupe's music carried me,his songs of ghetto redemption driving my blood to boil as I fashioned the first of what may be many manifestos. Thirty-five pages of jargon I wrote to provide a foundation for light.  Ho.  The judge signed it into law January 4th and I received my certified copy in the mail.  Shortly after we landed the children and I co-created an 8 point set of rules for our house.  Number eight says, "in all your actions remember you are loved".  I/you/we relate as artists to the upgrading/processing/unwinding of patterns via the creative act.  Studios are sacred ground.  Thoughts made there manifest as exterior life.  

Two weeks ago, I entered a dance of fire, which will showcase next Tuesday and Wednesday night in Cambridge.  This was the result of the first rehearsal: 
1. I take total responsibility for my emotions and emotional health.
2. I make and use clear boundaries about what I am and am not willing to do.
3. I take total responsibility for the financial well being of my family.  I rock it out as the matriarch.
4. I am open to relationships of all varieties which simply delight me.
5. I make no apologies for being the bright and beautiful star that I am.
It's a hot dance!  In the doing of what is set before me, I also stage a version of grief upon the stage next Thursday, and a version of tenderness on Friday, which feels really really good.


And in growing slowly, sensuality takes form, incarnating and ascending us in rapid replay and quick freshness, fast tides over/upon primary respiration.  Huuuuuuuu Allah Hu de Alim 4eva.  

British Seas

Swish~  That's a door opening.  On Monday I will perform with British Sea Power as part of an online series of live performance.  It is a fascinating project!  The technology, hacked from Kinect- Microsoft's response to the Wii- records, edits, and transmits digitally live time.  At rehearsals last week we were recording my movement with the Kinect inspired software in development by the crew.  It works with infrared imaging and responds to movement as the basis for editing choices.  With the recorded movements the software then pre-designs possible edits of the cameras and they are literally choreographed for the event.  The real delicious part of it all is the underlying aspect chance will play!  With many stored possibilities we all show up and perform for the space, perform for/with the cameras, perform for the live audience, and what is simply is.  There is no going back to the editing room, no air brushing of the lead singer, no back up vocalists added to the mix.  We are live, we are online, Feb 28th 9pm Greenwich Mean time.  The show lasts 20 minutes. Hu~

http://www.myspace.com/roundhouseblackbox

Daughters

We have reached that age, eyes roll and tears spin out in breathy gasps, everything seems so unfair!  Delicate and fragile, the nearly nine year old child becomes self conscious in a very new way.  Such tender handling is needed, not to break the sapling, as the self rises in flow with these early hormonal rushes.  Luckily, there are many great avenues to turn toward: peaceful parenting, love and logic, anthroposophy, and my daughters very nature.  These tell me that she desires responsibility, something to love, close connection on her terms, physical activity.  We are reading Ramona all over again (having read 4 of the books a few years ago), this time she reads some of the chapters to me.  She is taking yoga, swimming, cycling to school.  She wants more!  Ice skating and breakdancing too.  I'll have to see what I can do.  But the biggest and best part, is that she was offered a guinea pig to love and care for.  Daffodil came to our home, complete with indoor hutch, outdoor hutch, garden run, bales of hay, bags of food, and toys.  Every step of the way through our adventures, exactly what we need and desire has been laid before us.  Welcome Daffodil.  Next, I become friends with the ice dancers of the area, if there are any to be found! =)

16 Years

The most difficult part of being across the Atlanctic from my homeland is the fact that my teenager stayed there.  13 years of joy and cacophany, and then it was time to share him with the world.  Today he will not take cupcakes into school, he will be getting his drivers license!!  Happy Birthday Kaiah!  With Love.