by meghanleborious | Jul 13, 2015 | Notes on Practice, Uncategorized
![driftwood]](https://notesonpractice.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/driftwood.jpg?w=300)
Aspects of today were grueling, but in the morning I found a more inspired connection to the 5Rhythms than I have experienced since I arrived in Costa Rica. After I dropped Simon off at camp, I headed to the closest beach, Playa Pelada, parking the golf cart I have been using to travel the dusty, torn up streets, and walking to the beach’s farthest reaches. High tide was just receding when I arrived, and the spot I have come to favor over the last few days was out of reach.
I felt, again, languid, and wondered if I should consider a second cup of tea for breakfast the next day. I found a ring of driftwood—of drift trees, actually—that had been deposited by a recent high tide. It was awesome to consider the power of the water that moved such massive trunks, and many of them were smooth and gnarled, the sea having worn their texture away to reveal their elemental forms, their many unique twists, swells, forks and straight sections.
I endeavored to enter Flowing, dancing in the circle formed by the trees. Before long, I was climbing onto the trunks to dance and move, noticing my fe
Oh my god! The bugs as I sit writing are unbelievable! A four-inch long praying mantis just dive-bombed me.
Ahem! Noticing my feet as I stepped onto, over and under the driftwood. Before long, I was in the sand between the trees, moving in inspired circles. I realized that along with dancing near them, and with them, I could also respond to their gestures—some contorted, some straight, some
Agh! Oh my god! Another beetle in my hair. There must be an easier way. I just put a baseball hat on. There is no where to sit but at the table on the open balcony—tonight it is raining heavily and gazing out into the starless night, there is only a black void. The insects are particularly aggressive, perhaps wanting to escape the rain.
I gave up on the balcony. Now I am sitting inside on the bed, my son crashed out beside me. There is still an alarming number of insects inside, but it is a considerable improvement. The only problem is that it is difficult for me to write in bed. I don’t think properly.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Contándoles de la mañana—telling you the story of my morning. As I started to move with the gestures of the driftwood pieces, I became increasingly engaged. The driftwood was partially buried in the sand, and did not move at all, as I would expect fallen trees in the forest to move as I walked on them. I moved over, under and around the pieces, but also worked around in circles, delighting in the feeling of smooth wood and yielding sand. I was investigating the ground as a changing, responsive, unpredictable thing, rather than the perfectly flat floor I am accustomed to.
Moving through the wave, before long, Staccato arrived with its sharp exhalations and energetic expressiveness. I was easy in Staccato, and again considered the directed force of the waves as they carved the cliffs around me. I experimented with some expressive movements telling that story, rushing forward, swelling and crashing or hitting. I found myself, predictably, deep in the hips. Next, I moved into Chaos—removing my hair elastic and rolling and tossing my head, looping around the space of the sand between the driftwood trees—again, easy yet energetic. Lyrical was pure delight—pura vida, even, a phrase Costa Rican people say often. I rushed and soared, again climbing up onto the driftwood, with high, suspended kicks and long, dramatic steps.
Stillness arrived suddenly when I walked out onto a driftwood trunk that was four feet off the ground at its extremity. I froze, my arms raised for balance, and took in the sky, the sea, some distant beachgoers and the variable wind as I balanced there for a few moments.
After this lovely little wave, I investigated the beach where the tide had further receded. I found another good spot and spent an hour or so moving with yoga poses—both on the wet sand and on a smooth section of the cliffs.
From there, I moved into sitting meditation. First I seated myself in a smooth perch on the cliffs. As I sat, small bits of shaly rock scampered down the cliff and startled me when they hit my back. Eventually, I moved to a different spot in the sand, where I would be safe in case any larger rocks dislodged from the overhang above me. After a peaceful, patient sit, I created a small artwork, photographed it, then began the journey back.
On the way home, I discovered that I did not have my bankcard. I did not freak out, assuming I would find it at home somewhere. I did not. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how to access money, rather than writing (which is why I am contending with these gigantic bugs while trying to write now). To make the day harder, there is a major road construction site right in the middle of everywhere I need to go. The golf cart, which I call the carrito, bumps emphatically along; and we are totally exposed to the life of the street and to the astonishing quantity of dust that moving vehicles kick up—to the point that all of the plants near the roadside are visibly laden with dust.
The evening was more fun, Simon and I met with friends and, amongst other adventures, enjoyed ourselves at the beach as the sun set, leaving quickly after as the sky rumbled and was torn across with lightning. We arrived home before it started to downpour and enjoyed a traditional meal, cooked on a hotplate and served on the balcony until the giant bugs drove us inside.
July 7, 2015, Nosara, Costa Rica
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
by meghanleborious | Jul 10, 2015 | Notes on Practice
Low tide is the best time to dance on the beach. I have found a spot I like, at the farthest reach of Playa Pelada in Costa Rica—where I can dance, move and rest in the morning shade of an impressive cliff. At high tide, I would be killed if I stood in the same spot. When I arrived this morning, the cliff was still wet where the powerful waves of high tide had been pummeling it just a short time before. This time, I knew the tide was going out, so I could relax without the fear that high tide would sweep in quickly.
Today, my practice was languid. I danced the 5Rhythms for only a short time—taking care to pass through each of the rhythms, if only briefly. I danced as though I were not inspired, despite the gorgeous setting, the wave rhythm, the soaring birds. Sometimes it is not very easy to go it alone. Music, community, even drumming are all important elements of practice that I lack here, but I will keep setting the intention to move independently within the frame of the practice and see what arises. I have also contacted a few dancer friends of dancer friends and plan to meet with them soon, hopefully to dance.
A couple of weeks ago, in Tammy’s Friday Night Waves class I was not dealing with languid energy, but with a different obstacle. Lying on the floor in the beginning to get a sense of my body, I felt mean, tight. As she walked by, Tammy leaned down and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. I almost sobbed. Despite her kind gesture, I heard a litany of voices, “I am bad,” “I hate myself,” “I don’t like what I am doing with my life.” The volume of the voices faded as I began to move, but they were dimly vocal in the background throughout the class.
After this rather anemic wave on the beach, I switched into formal yoga practice. Today, yoga seemed easier to sustain than 5Rhythms since there are prescribed poses I could fall back on. After an hour or so of a mindful, patient yoga practice, I switched to sitting meditation and sat at length. Later, I walked more on the beaches.
In Tammy’s class the bright orange of sunset blazed on the eastern wall of the dance studio. I noticed my shadow in the orange glow and began to dance with it. Dancers came by, and I let my shadow dance along with their shadows. The shadows weren’t simply silhouettes, but instead were these overlapping densities of hue, darkness and brilliance. In 5Rhythms practice, each of the rhythms has a shadow rhythm, for example the shadow of Flowing is inertia (what I experienced on the beach today!) The way the shadows came to life that night seemed like an obvious metaphor for what was happening with my own limiting, ego-centric self-talk.
In the town where we are staying, sunset is the most social hour of the day. People make most of their plans for this time, and often think in advance about where they will be for sunset. Fifteen years ago, when I was near Manual Antonio, on the southern Pacific coast of Costa Rica, people would gather on the beach for sunset, then clap and cheer as the sun finally went down. It seems like a sacred ritual, but there is also a practical reason for it, as the strong sun earlier in the day keeps most people in the shade and off the beaches. Even the many surfers stay in the shade of little wood and palm leaf huts along the beach called ranchitos when they are not in the water.
Toward the end of the yoga practice, a couple showed up and settled next to one of the tranquil low tide pools in the rocks—the woman immersing herself in the water and langoring there while the man sat beside her on the rocks. And soon, another couple came along. I found myself strongly wishing to be alone, far from humans, for hours. This does not seem to be possible in this immediate vicinity because after a relatively short stretch walking along the beach, you arrive at an impassable cliff whichever direction you choose. I recalled nostalgically the last time I was in Costa Rica, when the village of Montezuma gave me the opportunity to spend hours and hours and hours walking along the beach—sun crazy and ecstatic—completely alone.
Tammy’s class was not cathartic for me this time (how do I wish!) but it did seem to re-set me. I went in feeling pessimistic and self-abusive, and left feeling perfectly fine. Not at the top of my game, but like I had what I needed to engage with my life.
In the second wave of the class, we partnered and danced from one end of the room to the other four times. This was the highlight of the night for me. My partner and I swooped together in a dynamic investigation of push and pull—it was like we were skaters in the Ice Capades—we would rush, swoop, pause and fall, touching or making contact and bursting apart again, using the farthest edges of the space available to us like we were on ice skates in a big arena, locked in partnership.
Today in Costa Rica, I planned to meet a local dancer and her son for sunset, but my son, Simon, had other ideas. We were at a different beach, and he absolutely dug his heels in, not wanting to leave. I decided not to insist and he fell in with a group of kids. We ventured toward the giant waves of high tide, me holding his hand firmly, along with two new friends—one his age and one mine. The sky glowed with pinks and oranges. I didn’t notice the exact moment that the sun slipped away, since I was playing in the huge waves with Simon—a game requiring my total attention.
July 6, 2015, Nosara, Costa Rica
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
by meghanleborious | Jul 5, 2015 | Notes on Practice
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
Today I danced the 5Rhythms by myself at the farthest reach of Playa Pelado in Nosara, Costa Rica. I am here in Costa Rica for a month, but just arrived yesterday, so everything is new and is an adventure. The place I am staying (we are staying—I am here along with my five-year-old son) is on a mountain, overlooking the ocean. It is remote from the town and beaches, so I needed to figure out a vehicle. The best I could do was an electric golf cart, so we are bumping around town, trying to hold our breathe when a faster vehicle comes along and kicks up dust.
I walked north from Playa Pelada today. Before long, I reached a cabo, and couldn’t walk any further. I decided it was a perfect place to dance, and found a spot in the shade of a high, wave-carved cliff. From there, I moved in and out of the sunlight, drawing huge loping circles in the sand with my feet. The only music was my own occasional humming of a song stuck in my head from my son’s favorite playlist, “Let it Go,” and the sound of crashing waves.
In Flowing, I loved the feeling of my feet dragging in the sand and that the sand touched all the parts of the bottom of my feet—in a way that they do not on a flat dance floor. I noticed that my feet were making an expressive drawing of Flowing in the sand, as I moved in open, linking circles, working with gravity and momentum.
I strongly considered staying exclusively in Flowing for the day, but realized another calling. The waves, at first, seemed to typify Flowing, but as I stayed and moved, I realized that the sheer cliffs and rough, jagged rock had been slammed into shape by millions of very powerful waves. With this realization, I moved into a languid Staccato that picked up energy and expression as I exhaled sharply, telling myself it would be best to stay in the shade, but needing more space as I explored my body’s response to the landscape—to the ocean, the cliffs, the rocks, the jungle plants, the soaring raptors and the distant, hazy horizon. The drawing my feet made in Staccato was as beautiful as the Flowing drawing they made. I moved to a different spot before too long, or it would have been eradicated. It featured powerful, directed lines in the sand, often with deeper heel digs, and sharp angles, just the way I had been moving.
An interloper appeared, someone on a hike from Playa Pelada. I grew shy. I paused and took out my camera to take pictures of the Flowing and Staccato drawings on the sand. I got back into motion, bashfully, then moved into Chaos regardless of my wish to be invisible to humans at that moment. The drawing my feet made in the sand during Chaos looked like the sand was ripped up. Truthfully, the drawings my feet made in Flowing and Staccato probably would have looked the same if I hadn’t stopped at a certain point and moved to a different place on the sand, but I enjoyed creating some kind of visual representation of the rhythms, even if they were partly contrived.
After Chaos, I sort of trailed into yoga-influenced movements. I was happy to let myself move however felt good. I note that that is one of the biggest arguments for group practice, however, that helps us to retain the form and the discipline of practice. I think part of my investigation this month will be how to sustain my own practice individually, and for now that will mean attending to each of the 5Rhythms in sequence once I start a wave.
When I was at a Buddhist retreat center in Vermont, I danced the 5Rhythms every day alone in the woods—in concert with the sun, the wind, the trees, the spirits of the tradition lineage, and the spirits of the land. The woods revealed many secrets to me; and this period in my own practice offered me insights that probably would not have been uncovered in a group practice situation.
I was mildly concerned that I might become trapped by high tide, so I moved a little way down the beach to practice sitting meditation. I made a mental note to check the tide charts before my next excursion. Sitting, I found my mind active. Little crabs scampered around. Jungle plants behind me moved with the breeze, rustling. Yellow leaf-like butterflies wandered erratically through my field of vision.
In the evening, my son and I played in the waves. It was high tide and the waves were impressive, but many little kids played in the waves near the water’s edge. I stayed close to my son, but at one point a wave knocked him over and I couldn’t put my hands on him for several seconds. When I grabbed him, he was disoriented. I don’t think he would have been able to right himself without help. I realized how easy it would be to lose him, for a wave to sweep him away from me. My heart chilled, though I tried to appear calm. I explained that we don’t have to fear the ocean, but that we certainly must respect it, and insisted that he hold my hand after that as we let ourselves be pummeled by the last traces of the waves which had already broken many meters out.
I am living the threads of many stories: of traveling alone with my small son for a month, of returning to a country that gave me many stories to cherish when I first visited it fifteen years ago, of political realities, of my own emotional obstacles and talents. Within this forum, I promise to keep the story focused on practice, but I hope you will bear with me if other threads drift in.
July 3, 2015, Nosara, Costa Rica
by meghanleborious | Jun 25, 2015 | Notes on Practice, Uncategorized
Hello world. Thank you, as ever, immensely, for your kind attention in reading these words. I love to write in this modality, and knowing that you are there to receive and respond gives it density—it helps me to show up for you (and for me) with all the commitment and integrity I am capable of. I am grateful to all of you for sharing in dance, for talking with me, for guiding me, for challenging me and for supporting me.
On Friday, Amber Ryan substituted for Tammy at Tammy’s Friday Night Waves class. Amber brings her own blend of insight, tenderness, sharp insight and vision; and I have benefitted from her teaching on and off the dance floor.
Before class, I had a very full day. After a long day at work, I had a fast swim. I also shared a full meal—which I rarely do right before a class—with my small son. I wasn’t sure how I would fare as the energy of digestion, combined with the longness of the day, affected my system. I need not have worried, as the collective enthusiasm swept me along from the moment I stepped in. “How happy are we that it’s summer?” Amber asked, and was greeted by cheers and enthusiastically bouncing bodies.
At one point in the class, Amber said, “I am going to ask a question that might not sound very…spiritual. The question is: What do you want?” Her voice was theatrical, tender, almost beguiling. The first thought that arrived was, “I want my son to be happy. I want him to live a long and happy life!” Then, I flashed on many of the things I want in my life, and noted that I already have most of them, or at least they are in some kind of process of becoming. At some point, I considered that what I most want is to be love, to manifest love, in everything, in every moment.
My cousin Alexis gave me a card for my birthday this year that said on the front, “Happy Birthday to woman who lives life her own way…” and on the inside it said, “boldly, lovingly, beautifully.” She said she read it and felt it was perfect for me. It made me cry. Sometimes I might feel small or mean or inadequate, but really what I really want, what really guides me, somehow was visible to my lovely cousin. Nothing less than the total expression of love, total uncompromising presence of heart. That is what I want. That is my truth. The star that guides me.
I thought about one of my Buddhist teachers, Sharon Salzberg, who, when clarifying a misconception about the concept of non-attachment, said, “We would all be well-served to think much bigger than we currently do.” I challenged myself to think as big as possible, even in terms of the concrete world. If anything were possible, what would I want? What do I want?
I had some insights that I will return to in the coming weeks. About work, for example, and how I am directing my resources. Also, I have to ask myself if I still want to “be a professional artist.” And, too, do I really want a certain kind of love? Part of me wishes for a partner, a consort, perhaps a soul mate, but part of me is in love with the world, with my life, with all of the creative activity I get to immerse myself in—and is hesitant to couple. Is that just fear? Do I want love love? That kind of love? More points to ponder. Thankfully, I will have hours and hours this summer to contemplate, meditate, make and release.
I have had a stress fracture in my foot that since the More Than This workshop in April that faded briefly, but returned again. Toward the end of the class, I took off the dance shoes I wore to protect the foot, and moved with mindful curiosity, taking care not to jar the foot and only bearing partial weight on it, easing my balance carefully with its health in mind.
My mother-in-law, who was a black woman from the south, possessed a resonant oratory style, abundant good humor and flawless dignity. Once, when we were together, we heard the song, “God, Won’t You Buy Me a Mercedes Benz.” I tittered. Having been raised Catholic, I always thought the song was tongue-in-cheek. You don’t ask God for a Mercedes Benz! You ask for world peace, an end of hunger, saint-like patience…something like that! But my very wise mother-in-law said, “Meghan, why wouldn’t you ask God for a Mercedes if that was what you really wanted?” She heard the song totally differently. The conversation opened a whole new line of questions I needed to pose to my mind. Why, indeed, wouldn’t you ask for a Mercedes?
What do I want? What do you want?
Amber played a dance remix of the Annie Lenox song with the lyric, “Sweet dreams are made of this….” She suggested that we think about what we want, and that we show it to others in the room. I lept into a gigantic dance with a friend who had just entered the class, bounding, spinning, emoting. In my head I said, “I see what you want! And I hope you get it!” I could feel her wishing the same for me. The beauty of un-conflicted, straightforward want is that it is, perhaps ironically, quite generous. When I want what I want, and I take responsibility for my wanting, I want you to get what you want, too. I don’t resent you for wanting, or even for getting. I even hope you get a Mercedes if that is what will make you happy! I carried the mantra around the room and repeated it in my mind to everyone I encountered,
“I see what you want! And I hope you get it!”
Happy summer, dear friends! May you live in the fullest expression of everything!
June 21, 2015, Brooklyn, NYC
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
by meghanleborious | Jun 23, 2015 | Notes on Practice
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
I promised my uncle—who has been kind enough to read this blog, but has no context for the writing—that I would offer some explanation for people who don’t already know about 5Rhythms. Every time I attempt a definition of the 5Rhythms it comes out differently. It is at once incredibly simple and infinitely complex. The best I can do is try to explain how I, personally, experience 5Rhythms.
For someone who steps into a 5Rhythms room for the first time, it probably just looks like a wild dance club with no drinks. Over time, practitioners learn that the five rhythms are Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical and Stillness. Guided by a 5Rhythms teacher, we investigate each of these rhythms through various suggestions, exercises, and as the music guides us. There are no prescribed steps, and it may look and feel different for everyone. In general, Flowing is characterized by awareness of the feet, and looping, unending motion. Staccato, the rhythm of the heart, is characterized by stops and starts, clean lines and may seem sharp or edgy at times. Chaos (my longstanding favorite) is characterized by uncontrolled, energetic activity, and may include rapid shifting of the body weight from one side to the other. Lyrical follows the release of Chaos, and may be characterized by a kind of lightness, curiosity or playfulness. Stillness—the concluding rhythm of a wave—is breathful. It is how you move with whatever is left after moving through all of the other rhythms. There is no set music, but most of the teachers are audiophiles who use their extensive knowledge of music to guide practitioners through a wave. If you are going to a 5Rhythms class, you should expect to dance, but it is interesting to note that 5Rhythms is by no means limited to dance. Rather, it is a way to describe the entire creative process.
This blog is about how I experience my own practice in 5Rhythms classes and workshops. It is also about how I carry my life into 5Rhythms, and how I carry 5Rhythms into my life. Does that help, Uncle Greg?
On Friday night, Tammy led us through two seamless waves during her Night Waves class, without any pause in the middle. A wave is a process of moving through each of the five rhythms in sequence—Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical and Stillness. Often, there is a pause between the first and second waves in a typical waves class (such as the one I am writing about) when the teacher take a few moments to verbally explain an aspect of practice or to propose a particular investigation while students sit and take it in. I love these teaching interludes and have learned many valuable lessons from this part of the class, but Tammy is expertly unpredictable—just enough so we benefit from structure, yet continue to be challenged with novelty.
I stepped right in, though I arrived 20 minutes late. The entire first wave was devoted to Flowing, so we moved through all five rhythms, always retaining some aspect of the first rhythm of Flowing as we moved through each of the rhythms. I was elated to find expansive movement; and that I had all the energy I needed to move.
The second wave was dedicated to Staccato—so we moved through each of the five rhythms—Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical and Stillness—and in each retained some aspect of Staccato. I found it a little difficult to access Flowing with the percussive drumming track Tammy played, but found my way into the wave with the help of another dancer. As we moved into the Staccato rhythm, Tammy instructed us to take a partner, and I turned to a friend who happened to be next to me. As per our instructions, the dance was an investigation of the concepts of Yes and No. My energy had faltered slightly, but as we entered into our Yes-No investigation my interest peaked. I thought of one of the mantras I have designed for my small son, who occasionally seems like a five-year-old teenager, “We should always have more Yes’s than No’s!” I tell him frequently. Sometimes I love to dance No, but on this night, the energetic expansion of Yes captivated me. At times, we were supposed to dance opposite roles, and I wasn’t sure if we were, in fact, in the same role or not, an interesting lack of clarity in a dance otherwise characterized by delighted specifity.
I moved around the room, partnering with everyone I encountered. In a smiling dance with a friend, a large man with downturned eyes barged right between us, sliming the side of my face with his completely sweat-soaked shirt. Believe me, I am not easily disgusted, but a revolted shock settled onto my features, and I dashed off to the bathroom to wash my face.
Stepping back into the room, I planned what I would say to the purveyor of slime after the class. “Excuse me! I’m not sure if you are aware that you slimed me during the dance? Um, in the future, could you please give me a minimum of two feet of distance? And, um, could you please, um, try to notice when I don’t want to be approached at all?” When he came too near me again, I put up a hand in his direction, scowling. I perseverated briefly about how, over the years, he has often invaded my space, crashed into me, and bumped me with flying limbs.
As I continued to perseverate, the music shifted us into Chaos. I started to laugh. I thought, “Oh, I am going to have a good cathartic laugh now.” As soon as I had that thought, the impulse left. I was lifted then by beautiful Chaos, and tossed by its currents and riptides.
As Chaos spit us out into the Lyrical rhythm, we were instructed to group with several others. One person was supposed to lead with a simple movement, and the others would follow. My group was a disaster. We had a very hard time finding one movement and there were several stops and starts. I was resistant for some reason, not liking what we were coming up with, not able to give myself over to it.
The day before, I had attended a teacher training along with thirty educators. I moved tables often (thank you, Flowing!) so I could meet different people in the room and learn about how they do their jobs. Many offended me. One table in particular made me particularly disgusted. A white woman in her mid 60’s who lives in Long Island but teaches in Brooklyn started to talk in a heavy Long Island accent about “them” (her students): how entitled they are, how their sneakers are more important than their studies, etc, etc. A younger woman, who I didn’t dislike at first, jumped right onto the bandwagon. A much younger woman, too, joined in. They went on and on. I resisted the temptation to ask them to explain who they meant by “them,” but left the table, again scowling, to refill my water bottle instead. Sometimes I really feel out of sync with the people around me, even in the dance in that moment. When Tammy said we could move around the room on our own, I fled, without looking back.
Despite these minor challenges, the overall tone I ended with was uplifted and energetic. I noticed repeatedly how happy I was to have access to so much movement. I noticed that a foot injury that had given me pause for weeks had evaporated. I noticed how much I love the heat and how far we had come from the depths of winter. I noticed all of the beautiful humans around me, being beautiful.
I always feel blessed when a strong theme emerges, but can’t force it if one doesn’t. The class was another thread in the tapestry I am living—complete with its unique insights, inspirations and challenges; and I am, as ever, blessed to have access to the 5Rhythms map that helps me to navigate it with grace and curiosity.
June 7, 2015, NYC
by meghanleborious | Jun 18, 2015 | Notes on Practice, Uncategorized
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
In the last post, I wrote about the intensive Mirrors workshop, Jane Selzer’s 5Rhythms class at my local YMCA, and a subtle prejudice that had crept into my mind—craving the “depth” that I experienced in the Mirrors workshop and believing the comparatively brief weekly classes were not as “deep.” In Tammy’s weekly class on Friday night, I found fathomless depths, the brief dissolution of my mind’s limiting stories, and the unbound capacity of breath and spirit.
I arrived a few minutes late to the first truly hot session of the summer. I spent a moment stretched out on the floor, but felt compelled to start moving through the room almost immediately, finding my Flow in relationship to the other moving bodies around me.
That afternoon, I heard an interview with the actress Maria Bello on NPR, who just published a book called, “Whatever…Love Is Love: Questioning the Labels We Give Ourselves.” When her son finally asked why she was spending so much time with her best friend, who had become her girlfriend, she told him they had become a couple. He responded, “Whatever, Mom! Love is love,” prompting the title of the book. She said she felt compelled to write about her own relationships when she was at a party with her son, her son’s father, her girlfriend and other friends and family. She was moved by how much love filled the room, and wanted to share her experience.
Flowing on Friday was nothing less than delicious. I was drenched within the first half hour of class, and my muscles quivered with all they were letting go of. In the previous week, I had been through a serious professional crisis, had graduated with my second master’s degree, and had been entangled in red tape, working through various issues and obstacles. As I moved around I met many people’s eyes, smiling, adapting a practice of Thich Nhat Han’s and saying internally, “I see you dancing there, and I am grateful for it.”
It wasn’t totally clear to me when Staccato arose based on the music, but once it was undeniable, I partnered with a woman I love to dance with. Our exhales became sharp, almost erotic and we used the directions—to find a way to define the empty space between us—as a jumping-off point for our investigation. Staccato found me creative, expansive, eager to experiment; and I carried that deep-hipped, close-in dance to my next partnership.
Usually I can remember many details of how the wave evolved and unfolded, but this time, it remains a blur, even as I read my notes from Friday. I took on Tammy’s suggestion, that we dissolve, that we let the dissolving happen. Chaos welcomed me then and I slipped completely inside—occasionally delighting in an arising edge, then moving again into spinning, rising, falling effortlessness.
Maria Bello was speaking my language. When I was in my early 20’s a psychic read my tarot cards. He listed several loves and lovers, including “Angela.” I had only dated men; and I couldn’t figure out what he meant. Shortly after our meeting, it hit me. “Angela! Oh! I know who he means by Angela!” Angela was this beautiful girl I had danced with at an all night party. She came up to me and said, “I think you are cute; and I want to dance with you,” smiling mischievously and looking me right in the eye. Our dance lasted a long time, and was as erotic an exchange as you could possibly experience. It hit me that that was love, too. After that experience, I went through a period of identifying as queer—I had more than one girlfriend, frequented women’s bars, attended Pride events, and even joined a social group for bisexual women. In the 1990’s, it felt important to stand up and be counted. It was, and still is, a political movement facing a lot of prejudice and hatred. Even then, I only very briefly took on a particular label. My relationships were very fluid and dynamic—even if I was with one person for a brief period. When I met the father of my son with whom I shared a monogamous, committed relationship for eight years, I continued to believe in the fluid, alive nature of relationships; and we collaborated in creating our alliance with this in mind. I still don’t mind if anyone wants to claim me as LGBT, but defining my sexuality—just as defining any other part of me—has not been an important concern for the last many years.
I had all of this in mind when I stepped into Tammy’s class on Friday—which is perhaps why Chaos had so much appeal. Tammy’s invitation to dissolve brought to mind the labels we put on sexuality; and I stepped across the threshold into Chaos with abandon—letting labels, stories, definitions, ideas of separateness and my own beliefs about who I am fly around in the air about my spinning body.
Chaos opened seamlessly into Lyrical. There was no dialogue in my mind. Several dancers who appeared to be in a similar energetic state magnetized together; and we moved in the same field, eventually finding the ground and moving with it as another partner. I felt quivery, liquid-like, whispery as Stillness manifested.
Tammy did not hold us in a pause to deliver verbal instructions between the two waves as is the usual custom, and instead moved us from this extraordinary space right into the next wave and into Flowing. I found movement easily and could palpably perceive that my energy field was intermingled with everyone else’s—the same “passing through” that I wrote about in a recent post.
Before class, I had showed a room for rent to a man who was going through the break up of a long-term relationship. We sat in the back yard chatting at length; and he shared that he wanted to establish a strong friendship with the mother of his two children, though they would no longer be a couple. I said, “Yes, I relate. My son’s father, my recently former partner (I have never found a phrase that feels right) and I have a beautiful friendship. It is not easy! There is so much cultural pressure to hate your ex.” He agreed, and I said, “The thing is, it really isn’t that important what form the love takes.” (Which prompted him to say he had just heard about this great interview with Maria Bello…)
I remain committed to the position that depth is anywhere you care to find it, and propose, in addition, that love exists anywhere you care to look.
May 31, 2015, Brooklyn, NYC
![driftwood]](https://notesonpractice.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/driftwood.jpg)
Aspects of today were grueling, but in the morning I found a more inspired connection to the 5Rhythms than I have experienced since I arrived in Costa Rica. After I dropped Simon off at camp, I headed to the closest beach, Playa Pelada, parking the golf cart I have been using to travel the dusty, torn up streets, and walking to the beach’s farthest reaches. High tide was just receding when I arrived, and the spot I have come to favor over the last few days was out of reach.
