On Force

Why do I feel the need to rise to certain occasions and attempt to meet force with force?
Why can't I just allow the words and deeds of others to simply wash over me?
Why do I feel it is my job, my duty, to respond?

A few weekends ago, I became impatient and frustrated with my (now ex-) boy/friend.
Always living a few steps ahead of the now, he was excitedly entertaining thoughts of an impending future in which he will be living amongst Shaolin monks.  "This experience will be my Master's degree," he said.  "And, after I create my own Self Creation Studio, that will be my PhD."
"Why can't you just be here, now?" I forcefully cajoled.
My annoyance was palpable and it affected our ability to enjoy walking our shared dogs together at the beach.  Afterward, as I drove the distance back up north and away from the recently had experience, I started to feel pangs of guilt.
What was wrong with me?  Why couldn't I just let him be who he was, and for the moments to pass as they did?  Why did I feel the need to exert my will??

I called my sister to confide, but she wasn't available.  I managed what in the past would have become a full-blown panic attack as I continued along my merry way to Dance Church and beyond.  Life continued, as it always does.

Nonetheless, the topic stayed with me.  For, prior to this experience, I had a strange, and strained, encounter with my mother.  She was upset with me over some of the things that I had written in my graduate thesis.  "Some of those things just aren't true, Cara," she angrily proded.  She was referring to the time period when we lived in Canada, which is where I was born.  I had written of one of my earliest experiences of dancing to pop music and how both the rythym and the lyrics had carried me off on a life raft and away from the rage that could shake our home to its foundation.

My mother, knowing no different, simply emulated what she had witnessed in her father's parenting style.  She used fear to control her three children.  She was a domineering force, with a heavy hand.  She also suffered, as most of us do, from repressed anger and emotion.  It exploded out of her, in irregular bouts, knocking down her innocent young and then picking them up and dusting them off in shame.  "I wasn't angry until we moved here (to San Diego)," she wanted to believe.  "Well, that can be your story," I responded, "but it isn't mine or my siblings'."  She began to shake violently and, at one point, rose to her feet and walked over to where I was seated at the kitchen table, and behind my computer screen.  She jutted her round belly into my side, while looking down at me menacingly.  To disspell my own discomfort, I raised my shoulders to my ears, rolled my head around my neck, and made silly faces - channeling my little girl of old.  She bent down, with a serious grimace, and peered into my face.  I reached up, pursing my lips into a kissing position.  The moment quickly passed, and she moved on to tend to the laundry.  I, however, was left slightly unnerved.

Since then, she has shared with me that she was "only kidding" and that she thought I understood this.  "I thought we understood each other," she whined.
I don't know what I understand, to be quite honest.
Nonetheless, life moves on...

At Dance Jam, that Friday, a local dancer, who is one of the founders of my favorite post-modern dance collective (Lower Left), entered our space.  I had seen her just a month and a half before, but I had not witnessed her at our Barefoot Boogie weekly event ever (I think).  I was grateful for her presence.  She began with deep stretching - warming up the joints of her hips, knees, and ankles.  With fluidity, she bent into these soft places.  I wandered up to her, and greeted her with a soft hug.  She spoke of the tumult of her life, of late.  I mentioned my investigation of force.  With that word, she begin excitedly punching at the air and flinging her arms and legs into space.  She used this momentum to carry her around our shared arena, and I observed her moving in and out of full and flowing interactions with others for the remainder of the evening. 

Prior to her departure, she shared with me how she and her 8-year old son had been spending time together watching "Star Wars."  After the film, she openly discusses with her young and impressionable off-spring some of the themes from the futuristic sci-fi cult classic.  She then thanked me for shifting her intention in that space while I greedily accepted her offering of
"May the Force Be With You."

Indeed.

The more I contemplated the word, the more I realized that I was the one who was associating negativity with it.  Yet, the images that kept coming to mind were of Tiannamen Square and the man who sacrificed his body because he chose to stand up against an oppressive and initimadating force.  A similar and more recent story came out of Palenstine in which an American woman also used her body to take a stand against Israel's enforced settlements.  Surely, these two did not die in vain.  Surely, there is a ryhme and a reason to standing up for something one believes in, and for not backing down - even if the loss of life is imminent. 

On Community

It was an internal quiet that I had yet to truly experience in this space - a communal arena in which we gather to celebrate one another and this thing called 'life.' Yesterday morning, I tried to release a high pitch fervor of bounding energy and unbridled enthusiasm but it just wasn't forthcoming. Where ecstasy usually resides, sat a deep and pervasive quiet. Unaccustomed to this new site, I wondered, "How do I connect with others, which is my impetus for arriving into our weekly dance space, in this way and from this location - this site of dark fermentation and nutritious soil/soul/sole?"

Words and images found on a Tarot card resonated: the 5 of cups catching the charred remains of burned, illusory rainbows and the ashes of disappointment. I sat near our makeshift altar with my trusty companion, a black, cloth-lined binder, in my lap. I arranged myself, and drifted towards meditation. Before I fell into my own pulsating rhythm, my eyes fell upon another - Christy. She was sitting across the room, with her back against a corner wall, breathing in, eyes closed. I stood up, and sauntered gently over to her side. I slid my back up against the same white wall. I arranged my legs, crossed, underneath me, placed my right hand on her knee, and joined her. In silence. In breath.

Soon, I felt the presence of another. I did not open my eyes. I only sensed, heard, felt and intuited. Following my same footsteps from only minutes before, he sidled up, his long torso erect and extending upwards. He placed his right hand on my left knee. We three now sat there, breathing in, eyes closed, exhaling on sound, releasing. Her left hand on my right knee. My right hand on her left knee. My left hand on his right knee.

Next, I became acutely aware that our trio had expanded. Another being had placed himself, sitting on the wood floor, legs crossed underneath him, directly across from me. I did not open my eyes. I sensed, felt, and intuited, our growing union. Together, the four of us, Christy, myself, Samuel, and William, breathed in. Together, we intoned - our voices, hymns, and lullabies, drifted up in sweet grace. Our songs, released from a deep dark, emerged. Twirling on air currents and dancing in delight. Spinning, dipping, gliding, motioning.

Then, we laughed. Deep, guttural guffaws. Light and airy tee-hee-hees, and forced, maniacal jest. The emotion, the swelling, the vulnerability poured forth. It was uncontrollable. It was raw. It was here, it was now. And, it was over. "Time to dance!" Christy chirped. And we stood, to usher in the end of another Dance Church session.

In retrospect, what I savored most about this experience was how I intuitively knew who was joining our union without having to see. Without opening my eyes, I knew.
A primal intimacy was shared, enjoyed, experienced, and then released.

"Lessons Learned"

Last Sunday morning, I awoke early for mango mimosas shared in the company of Sara, Ann, Greg, and Alice. We spoke of Goddard, art, theory, and more, as the sun rose over the Inlet and as the organic fluid emptied itself of one container, into another. From there, we all parted ways. I ambled over to the Madrona Mind and Body Institute, an old refurbished gymnasium that serves as one of the heartbeats for the Port Townsend community. At 10am, this vibrant group of Pacific Northwesterners celebrates with a dance church that they call "SoulMotion." On the hardwood, lacquer floors, I reveled in the opportunity to warm up my aching body (it had been a whirlwind trip, and I had yet to really take the time to stretch). I attempted to connect with the three dozen, or so, other bodies that were in the space - with my eyes, my body, my senses, and my spirit. I tried to work through my own tension, stress, anxiety, and blocks. I moved with the sun's warm rays as they filtered in from eastern facing windows. I observed 'pain' sitting around the region of my solar plexus (in the center of my chest and near my heart.) I recognized that time spent absorbing some of my parent's (and my own) disrespect affected me and brought some discomfort. I breathed in, and sang in
to the deep,
dark,
inner recesses
of
the
smallest
little
me.
And, I felt so much better.

By 11am, I was distracted by thoughts of my impending graduation ceremony (I had 30 minutes until the day I had spent the past four years building towards finally culminated). It was time,
to depart,
to move,
to leave,
to locomote,
to open another door and walk through it.

Here is where the lesson learned comes into play. On Saturday, after my presentation, I felt strange, odd, funny, and I could not understand my feelings. Maybe, I felt like a bride - so much anticipation for something that is over in a mere matter of minutes? Or, was it something else? I began to realize that I felt hollow, empty, needy. I wanted, I craved, I NEEDED, feedback, approval, advice, a pat on the back from the powers that be - from my advisors, and from these authority figures whose external voices will most certainly light and guide my way.

On Sunday morning, I expressed some of this to Deb. Deb then turned to Ellen and said, "Cara needs some feedback, Ellen." Ellen responded with the exact same words that she had offered up to me the day before, immediately on the heels of my presentation. "That was so generous, Cara," she had said. "Thank you," I responded. "You have just given me the absolutely best feedback because generosity IS a major part of my practice." Somehow, I had forgotten this little exchange.

In recent contemplation of these events, I recalled one of my first interactions with San Diego's hottest Swing dancer, Meeshi. After he inquired about my planetary alignment, he shared with me how my chart indicates that I struggle with the voice of authority, and that I need to learn to listen to my own voice. "Ha!" my defenses flared as I responded with a sweep of my hand. "I am actually just the opposite - rebellious," I defiantly claimed.

Yet, here was proof that I was still seeking outside myself, that I was still waiting for someone else to tell me that "your work is amazing, and worth sharing. Yes, you achieved your goal of engaging in a contact dance with the work that you had created, as though it truly were another living, breathing, being. You have talent, and your voice is needed in this world."

Indeed, this is what I have learned.
That I can choose to believe
that I have succeeded
that I can dig down
deep
breathe, feel, sense, and look inside
and KNOW
FEEL
this
all of this
because it all is
(true)























(and, it all isn't)

Practice, Take II...

The Practice is...

Presenting Myself

to as many moments as I possibly can.

Turning and facing

listening and breathing

feeling and sensing.

The practice is...

ongoing, and daily.

The practice is easy to





forget.

Yet, the practice is simple.
It is nothing more
than the breath
a breath
this moment
now.
This is the practice.
See -
it's easy.

"What Have I Learned?" A Monologue

I have learned that taking risk is essential, that I need to believe in my honest intentions, and that I must follow through on my big dreams.

Regardless of what comes, of who I alienate and of how the shit is thrown my way, I must take risk in order to succeed at existing as a human being and at living as an artist. I must believe in my honest intentions.

I do not purposefully mean to hurt you, or anyone else for that matter.
Yes, I have hurt others in the past and, yes, I will more than likely hurt many more people in the future, but it was mere circumstance that led to my actions.

(In other words, if I slept with your boyfriend, know it was not premeditated. It was only two adults making one, albeit momentary, decision. Know that the resulting fallout was difficult to navigate through, for us all.)
((Oh, also, if I become attracted to your partner as she grooves, deep and guttural, by my side on a wooden dance floor ("Ai!"), know that this too is not premeditated.))

It's only life. And, life hurts!!!
The rubbing against one another and the searing friction that ensues.
The spontaneous combustion of magnetic forces pushing apart and pulling back together, pushing apart and pulling back together, pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing...

Whew!! It's work. It's hard. And it hurts.

But, fuck, if I am not feeling it, then I am not living it.
And, if I am not living it, then I am not here.
And, if I am not here, then I am not (well, I haven't quite figured out this part yet).
I endure the pain so that I can feel the
lovehopejoylongingwishingdesiringfavoringflavoring
You I want to feel You
Your name on the tongue
Your being in this world
Your push to my shove
You.

Does tasting another really have to be so goddess-damned painful?
Can we ever let our defenses down, but for one moment in time, and allow the soft vulnerability to just simply flow?

No.
So we grab tight, to "The One," to those few, with who was can let our belt buckles out a bit, with who we can belch maniacally, and with who our bodies feel a little bit lighter whenever we are around.

But, why? Why can't I just let myself hang, and be held up by, by, by you? By a complete stranger? Why must I feel the need to push out a persona? To be
coolfunnysmarthipcrazylocovato...

Yo no se hombre.

Yeah, yo no se.
I dunno.
Instead, I breathe in and I try to re-member.
I try to Re-connect the invisible thread
And that is the big dream
This is the grand fantasy.

Little baby steps will get me there (here)
Listening, believing,
Deeper listening, sensing,
Still listening, embodying.

We are tied together
bound
like a little red bow
around your finger.
"Re-member," your finger winks at you,
"Remember..."










(this is my final grad school eval.
boo yah!!!!)