by meghanleborious | Jul 15, 2015 | Notes on Practice, Uncategorized
I managed to injure my neck on the one day I wasn’t doing anything strenuous. I was grateful to put myself in the hands of a highly-skilled new masseuse offering discount massages; and left feeling radically improved. Regardless, I got a late start and I was airy, sleepy. I made my way to my favorite place at the farthest reach of Playa Pelada, though most of it was submerged in high tide by the time I got there. I returned to the grove of trees backed up to a cliff that I described recently. There, I adjusted a section of sand by clearing it of rocks and debris left from a recent very-high tide.
My dance was tiny. I was nearly lethargic. Since I have set the intention to finish a wave once I start it (at least for the duration of my time in Costa Rica), I moved through each of the five rhythms without strong engagement. Often, I am swept away at some point, but this time, I continued to move subtly throughout the duration of the wave.
At the wave’s completion, I formed the sand to make a comfortable cushion and placed my dress over it, then sat down to practice sitting meditation. I sat peacefully for a long time, swaying slightly, and wondering if high tide might at some point overtake my perch. This seemed like the correct activity after such an intense massage. After awhile, an artwork came to mind. I left my seat and set about making it, further investigating a motif and also a theme that have been compelling for me lately. I photographed the piece, then set out to return home, have tea and write.
I forgot to relate a very important event: I surfed! It was low tide and I was under the direction of a qualified teacher, but I still surfed! It is such a focal point of life around here that I couldn’t resist, despite my adored mother’s vocal concerns. I surfed only one other time—before I was pregnant with my son, Simon—at Long Beach in New York. I was afraid as we walked to the beach with the big, stable surfboard, but my fears disappeared as the teacher, Keylor, explained the physics of surfing by drawing on the sand and we got into the totally-manageable waves. After the lesson Keylor let me keep the board for awhile and I continued to practice alone. I managed to “catch” several waves and stepped gracefully down off the board at the end of most “rides” rather than tanking myself in a sideways belly flop. I note that I have good balance because I am very comfortable with moving in and out of balance; and I suspect that thousands of hours of practice in the third of the five rhythms, Chaos, might be a contributing factor.
I picked Simon up at camp and we went home to rest for a short while. It was difficult to motivate him to leave the house again, but I finally succeeded in getting him out the door, with the intention of meeting some friends at the beach. Just as we stepped outside, he climbed up onto a chair, then swung wildly from the porch hammock seat. On dismount, he hurt his toe, stubbing it hard on the rough ground. I had asked him again and again to avoid swinging on the chair, and when he fell I felt anger rather than compassion, especially since he had been so resistant about leaving despite our earlier agreement. Usually, no matter how angry I am, if he gets hurt, I comfort him, without any mixed messages. This time, I said, “I asked you again and again not to do that! And now you are hurt.” I comforted him, also, but was still feeling tight and angry. After a few minutes for inspection and recuperation, I more or less dragged him along, and he continued to cry. It was several minutes before real compassion broke through and I stopped the golf cart carrito, saying, “Oh, you are really upset. Do you want me to unbuckle your seatbelt so we can have a big hug? I am sorry you got hurt. I am sorry you are so sad.” He hugged me tightly, finally calming down. I wished I had been kinder, earlier.
I am happy to report that I surfed again. Again, with Keylor’s guidance. Again, it was fabulously fun. Although I need to work on timing, once I am upright my balance is good, and I experimented, smiling and dancing a little as I rode slowly in on the already-broken waves, sinking low, rising and inching my feet forward and back along the stringer—the centerline of the board—to see what would happen. I told myself to relax and look at the space around me even if it meant that I didn’t get on top of the board as quickly, as I have a tendency to move in a panicked, myopic rush when time is of the essence. Keylor has determined that I am ready to go “outside” past the breaks in our next lesson. I was feeling pretty confident and continued to practice after the class ended. Unfortunately, I lapsed on a very important lesson: do not put the board perpendicular to your body in front of you as a wave is approaching, or you will get whacked in the face. And I got whacked in the face. Directly onto my right-side front tooth. It hurt but was not excruciating. It is definitely a bit loose and I have decided to stick with fluids for a day or two in the hopes of re-habilitating it. I was by all means humbled, and learned an important physics lesson.
We met friends at the beach and played in the waves as the sky lit with sunset.
A man flew the kind of kite you use for kite-surfing—with a string on each end of a huge, red, vertical kite going to each of his hands, used to control its motion. Simon and his friends ran, trying to catch the kite. I flowed in with them, and began to dance the kite’s movement. Although my morning wave had been lethargic, this sunset wave was alive with spirit. I covered vast distance as I swooped and arced, looped, lept, dipped, curved back, twisted and returned. I watched my partner, the dynamic red kite, as often with my back arched and head spun backward as from the front of my field of vision—dancing with precision in vast, unending space. I played with the kids as I moved; and we threaded together as they played my game and I played theirs—kite chasing. In Staccato breath became sharper, great back steps traveled me many feet along the sand and I would kick, then change direction quickly while my leg was still in the air and the kite made a tight turn at its handler’s direction. In Chaos, I let my head go completely, loving the luminosity, space, freedom and softness the beach offered as the wind picked up and the kite’s movements became quicker and more erratic. Lyrical was a passing suspension, a brief release of the fingertips toward the sky. Stillness lasted just a few short moments as the kite temporarily stabilized at a point high overhead, for once not twisting and diving; and I stood with my arms raised, gazing upward in gratitude.
I would love to have danced longer, but Simon was charging into the water along with his friends and I needed to be close to him, as I know that even the relatively smaller waves of low tide are not to be taken lightly.
Pura Vida, Movimiento Total y Corazón Llenado~
July 13, Nosara, Costa Rica
by meghanleborious | Jul 14, 2015 | Notes on Practice, Uncategorized
My morning investigations were delayed today because I had to continue to work on a solution for how to access money. When I did get to the sea, it was later in the morning and I wondered if the beach would be overrun.
The little artwork I had created the day before, high up on a cliff, was a dim ghost of itself, having been washed away by the crashing waves of high tide. As the sun was higher, my favorite spot was not in the shade of the cliff, but was in full sun, so I moved a short way back down the beach until I found an alcove enclosed by trees and backed up to a green-covered cliff. Several bright purple and orange crabs scampered toward their holes; and I was nervous, not sure what exactly they were. They definitely looked like crabs, but they could possibly be scorpions, right? I know that they have scorpions here, too. Brightly colored animals are often poisonous—a fact I learned on a nature show at some point. I am not proud to say that I covered the many holes in the alcove before I started dancing, with the hope that I would not be ambushed. I fell in love with the site in stages, as I began to move, despite my fear of scorpions.
Writing now, inside, as the insects won the battle and I finally gave up on the balcony after dark, heavy rain is pelting the metal ceiling. Insects call out periodically. I sip from a coffee cup full of white wine that came from a local grocery store in a screw-top bottle. A little glass with a tea light candle sits next to me on a table made of varnished driftwood. I have to move carefully, as the table base is also made of driftwood; and the table is extremely imbalanced.
As I started to move my feet through the sand, I pushed several rocks and small logs to the side. A harmony repeated itself again and again, and I hummed it out loud. There was a little hill up into the alcove from the larger beach and I experimented with letting my weight rise, fall and curve on the sandy incline. At some point, I stopped humming. Words temporarily fell away. I moved with no urgency, turning back and forth between the sea, the trees, and the tall stone, green-covered cliff.
In Staccato, I stomped and jumped, hoping to scare the purple and orange creatures into staying underground. I felt pulled into Lyrical, but endeavored to stay within the frame of a 5Rhythms wave and continued into Staccato. Sharp exhalations fueled the movements, and I again experimented with the narrative journey of ocean waves, and with moving up and down the small incline. I felt connected to the trees and plants and experienced them as tender and resolute—feeling a small welling of tears, even. For a few short minutes, I entered the tornado of Chaos—losing, briefly, the orientation of my body—bouncing and whirling around in the little alcove. Chirping insects and trilling birdcalls lead me to the next rhythm of Lyrical, which had been calling me all along. Stillness found me absorbing and responding to the energy of the green plants and trees around me and letting the calls of the chirping insects and birds enter into my experience fully.
For four years, I wrote a poem a day (almost every day!) I wrote them all in journals, on paper; and at some point I got overwhelmed with the number of them and let the practice go. I decided that while I am in Costa Rica, I would resume the poems. Here is the first:
The jungle is alive with whistles and trills.
Yesterday I danced with the circling shadow of a massive, gliding bird
The tide was lowering, else
In the same place
I would have been submerged and pummeled
By waves against the high-rock cliffs.
July 9, 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 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 | 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
![driftwood]](https://notesonpractice.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/driftwood.jpg)