rising 2014

In our age of screens and cynicism, the value of physically showing up is under appreciated.  Eye contact conveys empathy and acknowledges common goals so much more deeply than a Facebook share.  Humans were made to search out connection, but sometimes we forget that having hundreds of people connected to our fingertips is not the same thing as holding a hand.  Showing up is hard, and it takes practice; we have become unaccustomed to the risk inherent in real-time human interactions.  We have no editing capability, no delete button, no anonymity, no Photoshop.  We have only our soft flesh and strong wills, and it is terrifying and glorious to be actively present, and therefore deeply vulnerable.
 
It takes bravery to live un-ironically.  Admitting that we care enough about the tragedies around us to do something about them is hard, for we risk failure, we risk disappointment, we risk rejection, we risk feeling silly.  But risking nothing is uninteresting.  When we commit ourselves to authentically being present, when everyone invests their time, their bodies, their courage, all of a sudden... a little bit of magic happens.  

Morosity, cynicism, and self-isolation are contagious -- but they ain't got nothin' on joy, openness, and a good dance beat.  The cell phones permanently attached to the palms and pockets of those around us start to be forgotten.  Smiles spring unbidden to the faces of strangers.  Curiosity breaks through the daily hum-drum, and individual initiative steps into the place of collective apathy.  We transcend our divisive descriptors -- male, female, brown, white, black, native, foreigner, "normal" in all its nonexistent-yet-plentiful ways, and everybody else -- when we are truly present together.  And I know of nothing more capable of pulling us collectively and forcefully into the present than dance.  

This Valentine's Day, in the second iteration of One Billion Rising here in Toulouse, we continue to raise awareness about the unacceptable level of violence that occurs against women, locally and globally.  We refuse to let those horrors continue, and will no longer sit silently by while they happen all around us.  This is why we dance.  
 We are dancing for our mothers and grandmothers, to honor the burdens they have carried and to thank them for the lessons they have taught us.  
We are dancing for our friends and our sisters and our deepest loves, because their strength reflects and amplifies our own.  
We are dancing for our men, our fathers and grandfathers and loves-of-our-lives, for our brothers and for our friends, because they deserve a world where women are permitted to meet them as equals, to challenge them and inspire them and push them further than they ever imagined.  
We are dancing for our sons, because they should have the tools to express their deepest wishes and they deserve to be loved as all of their whole selves, with their emotions and vulnerabilities celebrated as strengths.  
And we are dancing for our daughters, because it is us who create the world that they will grow up in.  In our new world, girls will be cradled in confidence and beauty and love, they will be brilliant and they will be strong, they will know how to meet hardship with creative ambition, how to beat back fear with determination, how to open their hearts to love and their minds to inquiry and their souls to wonder.   
This is why we dance.

But we also are dancing for the sake of dancing, to mirror content with form.  We cannot succeed in reducing violence against women without empathy, without a recognition of the humanity in each of us, without celebrating the precious nature of each human spirit, shining and beautiful in its imperfections.  We cannot reach into the hearts of our audience and incite courage without risking something ourselves; we cannot fight hate without love; we cannot fight destruction without building community; we cannot fight violence without sharing joy.  This is why we dance.  So dance with us.  Share our joy, smile back at us, take courage, look into our eyes, call for justice, and above all, dance. Dance with us for love.  Dance with us for peace. Dance with us for family, for respect, for safety, for daring, for laughter, for beauty.  Because we will continue dancing, until our voices are multiplied, one billion times over. 

inspire: musings sur un mot, part i

In French, inspirer is the verb "to inhale" -- an action that is normally followed by expirer "to exhale".  Inspire: to breathe in, to take in air and fill your lungs with the oxygen that is the lifeblood for us all.  And yet to breathe, to inspire, requires constant determination.  The steady will to live reminds you unconsciously to breathe, with whispers that start deep in the pit of your stomach ("breathe") but can roar their way up to bounce around the inside of your skull, becoming deafening for all their initial inaudibility.  Each breathing being heeds those whispers, following the rhythms of those internal waves: in. out. inhale. exhale. inspire. expire. 

Life's most meaningful moments are recognizable by their ability to disturb these constant, gentle cycles of the body. When beauty is breath-taking, when love is heart-pounding, when dread makes your blood run cold, when grief is gut-wrenching, when betrayal is heart-breaking, when disgust turns your stomach, when surprise makes your jaw drop, when true connections warm your heart, you are acknowledging your body's deep wisdom and innate ability to tell you what you feel.  More and more, I am learning how important it is to take the time to listen to what my incredible, beautiful, strong, well-worn body is telling me.  

Sometimes the act of listening is as simple as laying down on the floor of the dance studio each morning and feeling how my body wants to move, what needs to pop, what needs to stretch, what tensions I am still holding onto from the day before.  Sometimes it requires reining in the senses that I rely on to feed me information all day long, drawing in the borders of my information field to hover just over the edges of my skin, suddenly making each breath momentuous, each heartbeat the marker of an. instant. separate. from. the. next. Sometimes tears are the trigger to remind me to listen, sometimes it is laughter... but usually questions.  My head and body and soul are full of questions, and they all seem to be in constant pursuit of company.

I am in a mad, helter-skelter chase after clarity, though my current path seems to be passing through wonder, through doubt, through folly, through determination and blind faith mixed with constant reappraisal. 

I am learning, slowly, to trust my heart's compass, to follow my head's vision, to rely on my gut's intuition.  The palms of my hands open themselves to the world and the soles of my feet carry me through this most intricate of dances.  Please, let me never forget to sit and wonder.  Let me remember that most of the truest answers will breathe themselves into being if I listen patiently enough. One of the deepest forms of courage reveals itself in the willingness to face the silent, dark corners of yourself. 

Let me revel in the bravery that is stillness.  

Inspire.  There is magic imbedded in the idea that each inhale must be followed by an exhale, each exhale by an inhale.  The wheel turns continuously for all of your days, and the work is never done.  So glory in each breath. in. out. Or don't -- spend the time willing yourself not to be as you are.  The next breath will come anyway; you will have another chance to start anew. inhale. exhale.  Inevitability can be the squasher of dreams, or it can be the infinite expanse of stars stretching themselves out all around you, murmuring "we will carry you.  there is nowhere to fall where we will not catch you."  The fleetingness of each breath recalls the fleetingness of each moment, the constant starting over, the never-finished-ness that infuses mortality with its vitality.  Search out the beauty in that epic destruction, the devastating importance of each instant that makes gods jealous of humans. inspire. Trust in it. expire. Then try again.

summer bliss

Apologies for the enormous amount of time since my last post -- though I did get to see you, Nana and Papa, so at least half my blog audience has been caught up on my life anyway. So apologies, but no regrets, given I have spent most of my time these past many months trying -- rather successfully -- to make myself blissfully happy. 

Sunshine, good friends, dancing, great food and more than a splash of wine; travel, learning, growing, being challenged, exploring new dimensions of my art, my relationships, and my goals; I'm not sure the recipe for my happiness is particularly unique, but it's nice just to live it for a while.  It means that I can enter into this new season (we started back today) refreshed and excited about what this year will bring, while also having no real clue where I'll be twelve months from now, let alone twelve years.  But I'm more than a little thrilled by that openness and the freedom that comes with the unknown: freedom to continue trying to find my bliss, and willingness to keep tweaking the recipe as the moment changes.  As long as I keep pursuing those moments where I am exactly where I want to be, with precisely the people I want to be with, doing the things that excite and fulfill and thrill me... I won't be so lost.  Not every moment is like that, certainly, but the ones that look like what we think they are going to look like are even rarer.  So maybe not thinking about what things are supposed to look like is a good thing.  I just get to put one great moment in front of the next, and work my ass off in between, and get better at recognizing the best parts as they come on by, without ever forgetting that I am so fucking lucky it knocks my socks off. I think I might run with it though, before anyone finds out and comes to try to correct things.

There is so much to tell. Toulouse. Barcelona. Paris. Albi. Nice. Berlin. Morocco -- Marrakesh, the Valley of Roses, the Erg Chebbi dunes, Fes, and Casablanca.  Seattle. Twin Lakes. New York City. Toulouse.  I'm still writing to you from my balcony, with my feet up and night falling around me over the water, the mountains having just disappeared into the dusk.  Eating my personal half of a watermelon, directly out of the rind, with a spoon. Life's good. I'll get to all the rest soon enough.