by meghanleborious | Dec 24, 2014 | Notes on Practice
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and are not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
I arrived a few minutes late to Tammy’s class on Friday, once again, although this time I was legitimately entangled—attending a holiday party at my son’s afterschool program with his many small friends and their parents. My son stayed until the end with his father, but when I told him I had to go, he pouted for a moment and begged me to stay, also. “This is what it means to have a practice,” I told myself as I got my things together to go, but I wish I had stayed with him just a little bit longer. It is always hard for me to find the line between commitment and rigid adherence.
Although I didn’t step into the room until the transition from Flowing into Staccato, I still felt that I was able to practice Flowing. Tammy made a suggestion about moving into the empty spaces—an exercise that I associate with Flowing—which allowed me to find myself in fluid motion before progressing on to Staccato.
As the class unfolded, Tammy talked about how good it is to experiment with being in your comfort zone; and, in addition, how good it is to experiment with things that make you uncomfortable—your discomfort zone, if you will. Over the years, I have, at times, made a choice to let myself move with what feels comfortable, good and intuitive. An example of this would be moving away from people I don’t want to dance with. At other times, I have made a choice to investigate my edges and to work with situations that are uncomfortable or downright aversive—for example staying in a dance with someone who triggers anger, irritation or defensiveness.
In one pair dance, Tammy asked us to take turns with one partner giving and one partner receiving. My partner and I paused, unsure of how to relate to the instructions. We settled on one being active (which I thought of as the giving) with the other more or less observing (which I thought of as the receiving). For all I know, my partner may have thought the opposite. I have danced exuberantly with this partner many times, but in this instance we had a hard time connecting. I was similarly confused as I moved on to dance with other partners, eventually letting the instructions go completely.
There was one woman sort of slowly parading around the room, totally out of sync with the rhythm everyone else was in. I had been open to dancing with her on several occasions, and we initiated some dances together. However, as soon as an attractive man came by she would blatantly turn her back to me and move to dance with him. Eventually, I stopped inviting her to dance, and even stopped making eye contact with her. On Friday, I noticed that I ignore her. I guess I feel a little angry toward her. I wonder if I don’t want to risk being rejected, don’t want to waste the energy, or even if some part of me wants to punish her. At any rate, she seemed isolated on Friday. I wonder if she acts toward others how she did toward me. I wonder if she feels left out and can’t figure out why.
In addition to noticing what feels comfortable and what feels uncomfortable, and deciding to work with or against it, there is the question of how we relate to each entire rhythm (a topic I considered at length in the last post and have touched on in many previous writings). Typically, each of us has a favorite rhythm, and at least one rhythm that is definitely not our favorite.
Perhaps considering the Winter Solstice, Tammy encouraged to close our eyes and be in the darkness that is inside us, and to look at all the light inside us. This was convenient timing, as I had been doing just that. I love to go into a trance and move light around inside my body during Stillness. Often, light comes from the ground up; or it starts in my hands and moves from there. In this case, the light originated in my heart and was blue-white as it moved throughout my body in rapidly squiggling lines.
During the interim teaching between the first and second waves of the class, Tammy reminded us of the “rules” in a 5Rhythms room. She glancingly mentioned the “no talking” rule, and went on to elaborate that “no talking” also implies “no texting.” She explained that when we come to practice, we give ourselves a rest from all of the spinning activity of speech, and commit to spending two hours just being embodied. “We come in here,” she explained as she pointed to her heart and drew the gesture down her thorax, with a halting, emphatic forward bow.
Before I did my first silent mediation retreat, silence frightened me. My partner at the time would frequently go into a phase of resentful silence before some kind of explosion, so I would fill the space between us with small talk in an attempt to force things to be ok. I would say that my lifestyle at the time was anything but silent, as well. On retreat, I took on the idea that embracing silence for a period of time is a gift for yourself—a chance to take a break from dispersing yourself and spinning your wheels in constant relation to others. I came to love the early morning vespers—when the filled meditation hall would slowly begin to glow with the pink light of dawn. Within two days, I settled into silent, textured bliss.
Tammy mentioned that not many of us relate easily with Stillness—no great surprise given our cultural tendencies. I connected this idea to working with discomfort, with silence, and with taking a break from communicating with words for the brief duration of class.
Building on the teaching of comfort/discomfort, Tammy asked us to share our favorite rhythm. My hand went up quickly, and I said, “Chaos” with enthusiasm. Immediately after, I equivocated inside my own head, thinking of a long period in the beginning of my 5Rhythms experiences when I felt very connected to Staccato, and of another long period when I engaged in a deep exploration of Stillness. I thought, too, of one class Jilsarah taught on a Spring Solstice when I briefly entertained the idea that I might secretly have a Lyrical nature.
Tammy had us create a dance with everyone simultaneously in the rhythm we indicated as our preferred rhythm. I found that it was difficult to for me to stay in Chaos. Not surprisingly, my experience of Chaos went a bit flat in the second wave, as well. Identifying strongly with anything can be dangerous, I think. The last thing I want to do is trick myself into performing to support how I see myself.
Toward the end of the second wave, I danced with one man who I rarely partner with. We created a lilting, playful ring with baby steps and tiny jumps, backing away from each other eventually with deep bows and beaming smiles.
On this Winter Solstice, I find myself thankful for silence, the ground of all sound; and thankful, too, for darkness, the ground of all light.
December 21, 2014, NYC
by meghanleborious | Dec 18, 2014 | Notes on Practice
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and are not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
Somehow on Friday I managed to arrive a little late to Tammy’s Night Waves class, although I arrived in front of the Joffrey building thirty minutes before the start of class. I would not say that I am chronically late, but I do note a pattern. Class nearly always begins with the rhythm of Flowing—the rhythm that is the most opposite to how I see myself. I have written extensively about how important and challenging the teachings of Flowing have been to me; and wonder if this might not have something to do with my occasional late entrances.
Tammy had several beautiful teaching points. One was to note that there is often a particular rhythm that people distance themselves from. This could show up as just not being into it, stopping movement completely, telling yourself a story about how misguided everyone else is and how on point you are, literally leaving the room (or, perhaps in my case, showing up just a bit late, leaning the tiniest bit away from the teacher of Flowing.)
I reflected on a period lasting a year or more when I noticed that I would go wild with the joy of Chaos, then, the moment the music transitioned us into Lyrical, instead of carrying that joy into levity, I would panic. For months, I could not resist going to check my phone, certain there had been some sort of emergency with my small son. I knew it was just a function of my triggered mind, but I had to go through with checking nonetheless. It was as though the kind of joy that arises for me during Lyrical was too much–harder to face, for example, than grief, guilt or aggression.
On Friday, the room seemed emptier than usual. I wandered for some time before I found a spot to sink down temporary roots to unfurl and stretch. Tammy began the wave subtlely, suggesting that we focus on different parts of the body, leading me to a contemplative, interior mood.
I’ve been reading a book called “Mindset” by a renowned educational psychologist. The researcher’s position is that most people align with either a “fixed” or a “growth” mindset. People with a fixed mindset tend to believe that you are born with certain abilities that inevitably express as talent. People with a growth mindset tend to believe that you are born with a range of capacities and that hard work and the ability to incorporate feedback are the keys to success. The interesting thing (and important for my own insight) is that even seeing yourself as smart, competent, creative and capable can be problematic. In this case, research shows that people will defend their smartness, creativeness or capableness—even shying away from working hard because hard work might somehow disprove their inherent talent, especially if they were to work hard and fail.
People with a growth mindset tend to see failure as a challenge, or as information they can use to grow. This brings me to Tammy’s remarks about people who check out—or even literally leave the room—during a particular rhythm. The growth-minded amongst us are willing to hang with discomfort and challenge, and are willing to at least try to stay in the room even when all our sensors tell us to run screaming. It seems like the rhythms that are least comfortable might offer the greatest possibilities for challenge and growth.
As has been true lately, I found all kinds of new ways to move. In Chaos, there was a marching, driving, military song. Tammy made a suggestion about moving with resistance. I balled my fists, drew my elbows back taut, and marched away—then released again into boundless, unrestrained Chaos.
As the first wave ended I found myself in a shamanic-like trance. Tammy said something about experiencing multi-dimensional breath. I first took this to mean space in all directions, and expanded the ways I was moving to include all possible heights and orientations. Then, I took it to mean all times and spaces that have existed, moving into different territory entirely. During the period of Stillness, I experienced compelling visions.
The fixed mindset/growth mindset information, along with Tammy’s suggestion about staying with it even when you want to check out, led me to think about how I, myself, have been affected by fixed mindset. As a child, I could sense two things about myself. The first is that I had an iron-hard core of strength that ran right through the middle of me. All I had to do was pause and turn inward to sense it. The second is that I was smart. I grew up believing I was smart (I can even remember the moment it first formed as a construct), and being told that I was smart all the time by well-meaning parents, teachers and relatives.
When I was 7 or 8 my Dad was slightly contemptuous when he believed I mispronounced a word. Around the same time, my uncle told me my favorite author, Stephen King, was “a fountain of trash literature.” I took both of these incidents as an affront to my smartness and began to set up architecture to support my vision of myself.
As I was considering the idea of fixed mindset, I also thought about all the energy I wasted wondering if I was a “good” artist. It wasn’t until after I had my son (and no longer had time to waste on neurotic internal dialogues) that I realized the question is completely un-important. Since I don’t believe there is any inherent meaning or any inherent self, there is no point whatsoever in considering this question. What matters more is making, process, progress, challenge and growth.
I went through a period when I realized that I was actually quite arrogant, and that I had developed kind of false meekness in an attempt to hide the arrogance. I had no choice but to express the arrogance for a time, in an effort to find some kind of authenticity. After a recent conflict with my son’s father, my mother told me that I can be kind of “rigid, sometimes” when it comes to things that concern my small son. She also told me it can come across as haughty. Ouch. The same week, I asked my boss to mediate a dispute with a colleague (hoping she would take my side); and she told me if I wanted to make any real progress—right or wrong—I would have to find some humility (implying, therefore, that she thought I lacked humility, at least in this instance). Ouch.
When I get similar feedback from more than one source, I have to at least entertain it as a serious possibility. Do I lack humility? Have I developed a kind of arrogance, perhaps to defend my self-perception as smart? OUCH. (Did I just write that?)
Thankfully, I am willing, even when I want to disconnect from the rhythm at hand, to at least stay in the room. Through practice (both 5Rhythms and in a meditation tradition) I have attempted to root out what the educational psychologist calls “fixed mindset,” yet I keep finding hidden reserves that surprise me.
On Friday, I danced with a friend I love to dance with and was sad when our dance dissolved. One of the last songs of the wave kept switching back and forth between a driving chaos track and a bounding Irish jig and I found myself in every different part of the room, moving quickly through both high and low spaces.
Often writing about my experience of 5Rhythms practice leads me to cathartic insight, poetic awareness or profound gratitude. Sometimes it ties itself into a neat bow by the last paragraph. On this occasion, it gives me more information to consider as I go about making my life, and, hopefully, to use to inform my practice both on and off the dance floor.
December 14, 2014, NYC
by meghanleborious | Dec 9, 2014 | Notes on Practice
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and are not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
I didn’t think that I would be able to dance last night, but a babysitter came through at the last moment. I was relieved. A week like this should not go un-danced, and I doubted I would be able to make it to another class before next Friday’s. I arrived 15 minutes late and stepped into a room already in the thick of Staccato.
There is a scene in the 2007 film The Great Debaters that I find very moving. The film is a true story about a debate team from an all-black college. Set in 1935, the team surmounts incredible obstacles, wins again and again, and goes on to challenge Harvard’s debate team. In a debate with a white college about whether black students should be admitted to the state’s colleges, the character played by Jurnee Smollett-Bell responds to the opposing team’s position that American society is not yet ready for blacks to attend all-white colleges, and concludes her team’s argument with the impassioned assertion,
“Would you kindly tell me when is that day going to come? Is going to come tomorrow? Is it going to come next week? In a hundred years? Never? No! The time for justice, the time for freedom, and the time for equality is always, is always, right now!”
In the last year, I have written extensively about the rhythm of Flowing. Flowing is the least intuitive of the five rhythms for me, and as such has offered me endless teachings. The idea that everything around us in dynamic, constant flux is, in my mind, the first level of Flowing. Next, I connect with the idea that, despite the reality of constant change and movement, there is a ground, and we can find a way to relate to ground that can steady us through the wildest of circumstances. On another level, I have become empowered to watch for the empty spaces that open up even in a crowded room and move into them, rather than wait opaquely for space to open its formal doors and declare me worthy first.
I have, historically, held myself in Flowing as long as possible, even after I feel the pull to move into Staccato. I do this mostly because I feel I have a responsibility to the people around me. If I really find my ground—know my feet on the earth and know my place on it—it is unlikely that I will hurt anyone, physically, emotionally or energetically.
Sometimes, however, there is nothing to do but take a great, bold stride right into the heart of Staccato. Sometimes you are called out on the spot to speak your truth with full conviction; and if you miss it, you may never get another chance. Maybe (god I hope so) just maybe, if you have danced and danced until the bottoms of your feet know their place no matter what is happening, when the time comes for Staccato, you will know how to step into it with the full force of passion whether you feel like you are ready for it or not.
I am telling all of this to myself, of course, because no doubt it is old news to all of you.
Stepping right into Staccato last night (since I had no choice) I found a low, powerful stance, and began to move around the room, paying attention to my feet at first, then shifting awareness to my hips, knees and shoulders.
For the last two years I have been teaching 10th grade. On Thursday, I facilitated a discussion about the decision not to indict the (white) cop who killed Eric Garner (a black man) with an illegal choke hold. One often-reserved 16-year-old shared, “When I’m walking, if I see a police officer, I take my hands out of my pockets and I put my hood down right away.” The refrain about being stopped, questioned and suspected went on and on as the students shared their thoughts. I learned that many of my students make sure they are home before dark because they are afraid the police might hassle them, find a reason to arrest, or even shoot to kill.
During Tammy’s class, I was distracted because I kept thinking about the discussion, and how I might further it in the coming week. It occurred to me that instead of thinking about the writing assignment I sent him home with, and thinking about how to bring the full manifestation of his unique, spectacular brilliance to the world, my student was forced to waste his emotional energy wondering if he would be unfairly targeted by the police and thinking about strategies to avoid being killed or arrested.
I exploded into Chaos the moment the music suggested it. If I had been born in another century, I would have been pronounced possessed. Chaos, rather than arriving as a tender release, retained its edges and its uncontainable power. I realized that I, like many, carry rage that has been triggered once again by the facts of the Eric Garner case.
I shared notable dances with two close friends, but when Stillness arose at the end of each wave, I found myself still distracted, trying to plan or understand or process the events of recent days.
December 6, 2014, NYC
by meghanleborious | Nov 24, 2014 | Notes on Practice
November 24, 2014
This blog consists of my own subjective experiences on the 5Rhythms® dancing path, and are not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms® organization or teacher.
One of my favorite things to dance to is the flight of pigeon flocks, especially as they are directed by a keeper from a rooftop. They arc and swoop in great, epic, collective gestures. My arms and body swoop and arc and spin as they do. Four years ago this month, I was teaching then-infant Simon to dance to the flights of birds just as I got a call letting me know that my friend, Howard, had died.
Recently, I have been wondering about something within my practice. How willing am I to fully take on the rhythms and to try on whatever instruction comes to me under this category? At what point does following the instructions become an orthodoxy, and hinder progress instead of supporting it? Is there a point that I should ignore the instructions and follow an inner guide? Likely, this is a shifting continuum that changes over time, but it is something I consider often. It makes sense to take intuition as a guide, but (un-enlightened as I am) I wonder if I mistake my own complex conditioning for intuition. I have no time to lose, after all, and I want to adopt the most productive mindset so I don’t waste too much of this short, precious life I’ve been blessed with.
I have been studying the history of western civilization lately, where the Ancient Romans have a big role. It seems, the Romans had many different ways of divining the future, including analyzing the flights of birds.
On Friday, I stepped into Tammy’s class feeling slightly unsettled, and, as often happens, was quickly folded into the room, forgetting my ill-ease. There is not a theme that dominates my memory, and there doesn’t appear to be one emerging here, but I noticed that nothing hurt, that I had a perfect amount of energy, and that I was neither holding back nor overexerting.
A neighbor asked Simon if he was good. Being four, he said, “No!” laughing as he said it. The neighbor said, “Well, what’s bad? If nothing’s bad, then you’re good, right? That’s how it works!”
In a dance of partnership, Tammy instructed us to investigate what feels like too close and what feels like too far. I fell into a friend who was the perfect ally in this investigation. He is sharp, confident, very handsome, unflinching. It makes me nervous to dance very close with him, yet I always want to engage him. Perhaps he is just matching me, but I perceive that he has an exceptional capacity for precision—many razor sharp edges that are not aggressive–but vivid, articulated and wild in the most cosmic sense possible. We stepped sharply in and out of each others’ fields, spinning and stopping, behind, beside, around—stretching the space between us, then snapping back together and rolling away from each other like two grooved cogs.
I also continued a dance begun during Tammy’s Faint of Heart workshop with a friend who witnessed me as I moved and who I witnessed as she moved through a body parts meditation. We fell forward and back, rotating up and down like coins spinning and slowing, coiled softly around one another’s spines, holding each other’s eyes by arching backward even as we spun all the way around.
Looking for answers from the sky, my eyes soar upward, into vast space, and I realize, once again, that I am but a tiny little piece of this vast, poetic dance, and that my own little dance is one of an infinite number who collaborate in creating the world, moment by moment, gesture by gesture.
Note: There is a post that precedes this one that has yet to be published. It should be up within 2-3 days (once it is approved by everyone mentioned in it) and will shed additional light on some of the topics discussed in the current post.
by meghanleborious | Dec 30, 2013 | Notes on Practice
5Rhythms – My Experiences
After years of practicing Gabrielle Roth’s 5Rhythms dance and movement meditation practice and writing extensively about my experiences, I have decided to create a blog to share some of my writings. This blog is not sanctioned by any 5Rhythms organization or teacher, and only represents my personal experiences and reflections. Some posts will pertain to last night’s class, some will be about past experiences, and some will address broader themes. The following post is about Lucia Horan’s Waves workshop held on the first weekend of December this winter. In case an explanation of the 5Rhythms practice would be helpful, I have included one at the end of this post.
December, 2013, Brooklyn, NY
Today was the first day of a three-day 5Rhythms Waves workshop taught by Lucia Horan, titled Graceful Journey.
I bumped slowly along the exposed cobble streets of Dumbo, Brooklyn, and eventually found a parking spot in the vicinity. I set forth in the rainy, windy night to find the White Wave Dance Studio. I walked in the wrong direction initially, but soon realized it was on John Street—the last stop before the shimmering East River.
I was surprised to step directly into the studio—no antechamber, no lobby—and was ushered to the basement to store my things. I descended a ladder-like stair into the resident dance troupe’s dressing room. It was filled with mirrored dressing tables and had big, exposed beams and clean wood floors. I left my things and ventured upstairs.
As is my habit, I paused to bow as I crossed the threshold onto the dance floor. The studio had a wood floor, two white central columns, exposed wood beams in the high ceiling, and black velvet on two of the walls. There was only one visible window—above the door, and it looked onto the stacked-sphere tops of transformers at a power plant by the river’s edge. The light was atmospheric and the big gas heater whirred periodically with blue flame. One of the participants created a temporary installation for the weekend with yards of white crinoline fabric, glass cake dishes, feathers and crystal elements.
We began slowly, with tonal music. Most people lay on the floor and gently stretched or rocked. I was happy to discover that I could move with freedom and energy. I never know what will be available until I start moving, and have, at times, been painfully inert.
One thing I noticed right away is that I didn’t dislike anyone. Or hate anyone. Or even feel irritated. At all. Usually, there is at least someone who rubs my edges, but tonight I felt genuinely curious and willing to connect with anyone in attendance.
The 5Rhythms is a dance and movement meditation practice articulated by Gabrielle Roth, the recently-deceased founder of the practice. She laid out a number of themes for practitioners. The Waves theme, Lucia explained, has to do with the creative process, and with investigating how we transition between things, how we begin and end, and what we do in the middle.
I guess I thought the series would be introductory since Waves is the first workshop for most people. I had done a Waves workshop already. The last time it was powerful and interesting, but in this case it was full-on in every way from the very beginning.
Friday night we investigated the Flowing rhythm of the Wave; and I danced so hard I left nauseous. We were instructed to move through the room by moving into empty space, and allowing the body continuous motion. I felt playful and grounded, though I noticed that it was hard for me to stay in Flowing. Rather, any time a breakbeat or any other exciting sound arose, I dove straight into the rhythm of Staccato and even into Chaos. It was only Lucia’s spoken instructions that slowed me down and brought me back into the investigation of Flowing.
As I moved through the room, I began to do something I call Passing-Through Practice. It involves energetic intermingling with everyone and everything in your field. It surprised me when Lucia said, “Passing through, but not holding on.” She repeated the phrase several times, and it felt almost magically cogent to my own thoughts in that moment.
As the first wave concluded, I moved out of the center of the room and shut my eyes. Rainbows danced out of my hands, and I smiled as they arced and undulated above me.
After the first wave, we sat in a semi-circle facing Lucia. She told us that a wave is a perfect map, birthed by the adored and venerable Gabrielle Roth (the mother of her brother); and that the Waves work is particularly dear to her. She went on to say that over the years, she has developed her own way of relating to the themes. While she was moving to demonstrate Staccato she explained that Staccato has to do with how we commit to things, how we see them through, and how we apply effort strategically. She also talked about knowing how to begin and how to end things with honorability and maturity. When we don’t have 10,000 loose ends and 10,000 fucked up relationships, we can show up for things with a clean heart. We can start new things with integrity and vision. I love this way of thinking about Staccato.
During the same session, she talked about how the Graceful Journey of Waves has to do with surrendering resistance, in order to live gracefully in the face of constant change. My brain said, “but resistance is so interesting! If it were just all surrender and gracefulness, what would we work with?” I confess that edges—my own and others’—intrigue me, and are central to my own investigation of Staccato. By “edges” I mean the knots, the places of resistance, the sticky spots, the glitches, the repeated actions and the ongoing, occasionally-contentious dialogues that I have with my own mind.
I put on a sweater during Lucia’s teaching, but was downright cold by the end of the middle, and was grateful when she told us to rise and start moving again. We were instructed to look for empty space and move into it. Soon, she had us take a partner. Then, she told us to switch partners in rapid succession.
As the wave unfolded, I shared many beautiful dances. One was with a man in cheerful, printed tights named H. As I move around the room, I often try on the movement of anyone who is near me—this helps me to discover new ways of moving and to expand my own capacity. H. had his hands high in the air and was bouncing and shaking when I enthusiastically joined him.
Saturday’s session began at 12 noon. My parents arrived from a few hours away to care for my small son, Simon. I bid them good-bye and hurried to the dance studio in Dumbo, about two miles from my home. I moved through the routine of arrival easily, bowed, and set foot on the dance floor. To start, I arced and twisted and stretched on the floor. I was in high, high gear as we moved through this first wave of the day.
I found myself in a spin, slightly off to the side, cutting the air with the sides of my hands as I moved, eyes wide open, seeing everything in the room from within my spinning trance. It is peaceful for me, inside a spin. I don’t get dizzy, but feel grounded and at ease. At one point, I felt winds begin to rise along the sides of my spine, and up to my head. It was curious; and I wondered if these particular energies are what are discussed in Buddhist Vajrayana teachings.
At the conclusion of Saturday’s first wave, Lucia gathered us in a circle and asked us to introduce ourselves with a gesture while saying our name, and told us the whole group would follow. I find this very hard: distilling my expression into a single gesture. I guess that is why, as an artist, I tend to work on large projects with several component artworks that cohere to create an overarching meaning. Someone said, “M.!” and stepped forward, offering her gesture. Then, we all repeated her name while attempting to mirror her. It was funny at times. I kicked my legs forward and said, “Meghan!” muttering at the same time that I couldn’t think of anything. Everyone did their best to copy my awkward movement while calling out my name.
Lucia then gathered us and taught with greater depth on the topic of beginnings and transitions. She invited people to share their own experience of the night before, particularly how we were relating to the topic of beginnings.
I raised my hand, but never got to speak, as the conversation came to its natural conclusion before I had a turn.
Lucia asked us to experiment with how we move when we take the first step. I was enthusiastic about this exercise, but through it I was thinking about how I relate to the middle. Often, I still think I am gearing up, warming up, getting going, when I am in fact well into the middle. For example, sometimes the middle of a weeklong meditation retreat is day two, and the remainder of it is the end. If I don’t notice that the middle has arrived, I am still pacing myself when I should be sprinting for glory. The race ends and I privately have to live with the fact that I had more to give. I experienced grief for moments I’ve lost because I wasted my time thinking I was going to arrive at some other, future time and then give my all, instead of giving it up for every moment as it presented itself.
This is extra poignant because I turned forty this year. It is not like I am warming up to something. This is it. This is the middle. As Lucia said, “all that you have been and done that has brought you to this place.” I am in the middle. I am in the middle of my career as an artist, in the middle of my career as a writer, in the middle of my life, in the middle of my experience as a mother, in the middle of many friendships, even in the middle of my experiences teaching. Of all the many insights of the weekend, this was the deepest for me, this re-knowing of the tenderness of now, of the middle, of the full expression of things, as they are in this moment.
This investigation continued as we moved into Staccato and Chaos—the middle of the wave. I kept finding myself with C—a dancer who I had seen before but never danced with. As Lucia fed suggestions into the microphone, we danced with all the cagey angles and oblique approaches and stops and starts and rushing retreats and frontal advances that Staccato can be. Lucia’s words were about the commitment of being in the middle, of having the courage and ferocity and passion to engage wholeheartedly with your experience.
One thing I have not been whole-hearted about in my life is teaching high school. Last year, I applied on a whim to a rigorous, free teacher-training program. I was accepted, and, concurrent with grad school, have taught high school for the past two years.
Last year was not just bad, but traumatic. Previously, I had been a textile and graphic designer, working mostly freelance. I cried for three solid days when I accepted the fellowship. I accepted because I haven’t been able to fully support myself, especially with my small son, and have had to ask my parents for help at times. The job is much less pay, but has insurance and stability—exactly what my parents want for me, as they believe it will make me happier in the long run.
Despite all of this, I love and connect with the kids I work with. Now in my second year and at a different school, I co-teach four subjects—English, Math, History and Science. I see the same kids four classes a day. I have fallen in love with them, and work tirelessly for their success. I also find (to my surprise) that I am a competent—maybe even a good—teacher.
Still, secretly, there is this lack of commitment. It is not that I don’t want to teach. Rather, it is all the half-finished books and articles that are like little un-hatched robins in their little blue eggs, all the complex artwork projects, all the visions and dreams and collaborations that I chip slowly away at—a prisoner trying to tunnel my way out of Alcatraz with a cafeteria spoon. I am so afraid that if I lose the thread I will lose my connection to creative work, and to my heart in the process.
Engaging in anything without wholeheartedness is a lack of integrity, a secret poison that erodes peace of mind. In addition to talking about commitment and passion, Lucia talked repeatedly about developing honorability and maturity with beginnings, middles and endings. I think wholeheartedness, awareness and integrity are stars in the same constellation.
The question of teaching has still not been resolved, but at least I have found another angle of inquiry. It turns out that C, who I shared this investigation through dance with, has a daughter with special needs, who has been receiving special education services since infancy.
I had countless beautiful dances of partnership. One was with my friend T. in the rhythm of Lyrical as we investigated the middle. We spun and moved around each other—almost coy, athletic, with spun shoulders and beautiful rolling pauses—beaming smiles, and on the ground and in the air as we moved.
Another was with a woman named M. who is very beautiful and has a very big dance. I wasn’t sure about her at first, but over time I have come to trust her integrity. We came together several times during the evening, and notably, shared a huge dance moving together from Chaos into Lyrical. We were like a 100-point star, jagged and matrix-like, then spinning with abandon. It was so energetic I thought I might faint. I kept thinking “she is so brave,” with this very tender feeling. During a group discussion shortly after, I was not surprised that she made a comment about courage.
We had a break for lunch and it was surreal to step out into the cold, overcast, white afternoon. Four glowing birds circled over the river, illuminated by the first cast of sunset. I watched them in quiet amazement on the steps of the dance studio.
It is hard for me to remember when Lucia said what. Truthfully, I was in a trance for much of the weekend and a lot of the content felt like it was coming to me in a dream. She spoke several times about how important it is to let go of resistance. She did not resort to allusions, but told us repeatedly that everything changes and everything ends. That one day we will have to let go of everyone we love and will even have to let go of our very bodies. The final stop for all of us is death; and we will be much better off when the transition of death arrives if we have learned to be graceful in all transitions, including the ones in the dance.
That afternoon, we began to shift into the rhythm of Lyrical. I was ecstatic. The whole room danced as one. I reflected that the letting go of Chaos comes so naturally to me, but the letting go that lets joy come in—the letting go of Lyrical, is another matter entirely. I thought back to when Barack Obama was elected for the first time. The world would never be the same and we all knew it. I cried with joy for days, my throat tense with the wish to keen with all my volume. That Friday, in Tammy’s class, we were swept up by a huge wave of cathartic joy. I/We had to let go of many ideas about who we are and what America is to let this new experience in. I was all in: wild, ecstatic, sobbing, bouncing and twirling with the room, but I confess that it was hard for me.
My brain suspects that things will get worse after the joy comes. When my son was first born, every time we came into Lyrical during class, I had to contend with a powerful impulse to run to the phone and call home to make sure he was ok. My mind was sure he had had an accident or a seizure or some other unthinkable calamity. This lasted for many months and was almost exclusive to the transition into Lyrical. I cried all weekend during the Waves workshop, but as I moved through the space, dancing with everyone in the room in this phase of Lyrical, tears absolutely coursed down my cheeks.
Lucia had us take out journals and instructed us to begin with the prompt, “in the heart of the middle, I find….” Again, tears poured down my cheeks as wrote. “In the heart of the middle, I find…that if the middle passes without my noticing, there is grief.” I re-iterated the same idea for seven pages.
Saturday night, I had dinner with my parents and small son at a festive restaurant close to the dance studio. My parents slept in my bed and I slept next to Simon in his room. He took this opportunity to coil himself around my neck, lay on top of me, give me kisses again and again just as I was drifting off, and push me repeatedly off the side of the bed with his ardency to be close.
I woke up stiff and tired. My neck hurt bad. My knees hurt. My middle back. My lower back. The arch of my right foot. I had a cut on top of one of my toes. I even had a slight limp, thanks to a tender Achilles. Thankfully, my parents and sister, Courtney, who joined us from her apartment down the block, agreed to scrap our plan for brunch out and instead cook at my place.
After brunch, I set off once again for the White Wave Dance Studio in Dumbo, while my Dad drove Courtney to a 5Rhythms class in the West Village, and my Mom and Simon prepared for a puppet show they would attend along with my Dad.
Still, I hurt. I arrived early on Sunday, attended to all of my fluttering needs, then set to rocking and stretching to the tonal, attenuated music. I could not imagine how I would possibly move. Miraculously, as soon as the music started, I found that I had all the energy I needed, and could move with grace and joy. To my amazement, the pain and stiffness of Sunday morning never returned.
Sunday’s first wave was powerful, subtle, complex, honest….at least from my perspective. When we sat to listen to Lucia’s teaching, she remarked that she had witnessed a particularly beautiful Stillness, and even thanked us for our efforts.
She talked to us of endings. Of how in our culture, we turn away from old age and from death. The end of life. How Stillness is an investigation of the pause between things. Maybe even of the pause between lives, I thought. And how counter to our conditioning that pause is—that acknowledgement of something ending—or perhaps of something just ended. And of our culture’s achievement and activity-driven morality.
This discussion was very coherent with my own artwork. I have been working on a project called Memento Mori that has taken me by surprise. It started with the intention to place a veil between two trees in the winter woods near my childhood home, then pass through it repeatedly. It took my breath away when I realized that I was really engaging with the veil between the worlds, between flesh and spirit—the veil we pass through in birth and in death, and if we are careful, discreet and lucky, we get to peek through occasionally during the course of our lives.
The woods there are filled with the spirits of my ancestors, and I worked for many days in and out of trance. The spirits moved around me, and I titled the main artwork of the series From the Corner of My Eye. It is a reckoning with death, really. The winds rushed and clattered the leafless tree branches as I reminded myself that I can only fully live in this life—this middle—if I can accept the inevitability that it will end. That I will die. That everyone I love and everything I love will one day cease to be.
H, who became a new friend during the course of the weekend, changed the installation for the third and final day, re-arranging the elements and adding a central spiral made of salt, coiled on the black ledge, like a vision of brilliant stars, burning in the black sky.
5Rhythms is a dance and movement meditation practice discovered by Gabrielle Roth. In a typical 5Rhythms class, practitioners move through a series of “Waves.” Each Wave consists of the rhythms of Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical and Stillness; and the teacher-selected music and occasional instruction guides you through. There are no prescribed steps and the only rules are that you cannot speak with words, and that you must keep moving. In Gabrielle’s own words, “it is not free dance, but rather dance that frees.” Please visit www.gabrielleroth.com to learn more.
