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
by meghanleborious | Apr 15, 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.
“Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn’t music.” –William Stafford
Dance is my religion. I go to 5Rhythms class like some people go to church. I participate in the community, give and get support, and intensively study the writings and teachings. Where I notice God, or Gods, or God-ness is in dance, in moving.
Class on Friday night was divine. I arrived a few minutes late to find Tammy talking rhythmically about the many ways we might choose to enter the class as people began to stir and circulate. You could move about and investigate every part of the room and every person in it. You could find a spot and attach yourself to it for a period, stretching, investigating the weight of the body on the floor, or moving slowly, for example.
What was so good about class on Friday? First of all, nothing was wrong. That is an extraordinary thing to notice. No aches, no tiredness, no dominating anxieties, no notable irritations. I had abundant energy for every moment of class, and did not note any wavering in attention or engagement.
Early in the class, I felt like it was difficult to move around the room, as many people seemed married to the spot they were in. The moment I articulated this to myself, Tammy offered instructions that had us relating to the spaces between ourselves and the people in front of us, behind us, and to the sides of us. Suddenly, the room came alive in four dimensions—dynamic and fluid—and people seemed open to connecting.
Daniela taught Tammy’s class two Fridays ago night since Tammy was away at the 5Rhythms teacher training. Her teaching in the middle of the class had to do with finding ways to manage complexity in our lives. She talked about how we simultaneously hold multiple things that might even be contradictory. I am a lover of beautiful chaos—the exquisite proliferation of forms, the universe’s forceful expressions of life, the dynamic and wild activity of reality. Part of me loves even the tangled mess of it. This is what came up for me when Daniela spoke about complexity.
My creative work reflects this tendency toward complexity. I am grateful, for example, to have found this written form—wherein I write more in a relational field than as a linear proposition or polemic argument. Often, several different threads are woven together. They may converge into fabric or woven tapestries, or they may, at times, simply co-exist as threads, un-willing to be tamed into a larger narrative.
In a past workshop with Lucia, she encouraged us to engage with complete simplicity. This was a difficult proposition for me! It was not easy to let go of the edges, the glitches, the problems, the stories. The investigation was fruitful; and I found myself torn apart in the most beautiful possible way. In Lucia’s workshop, I learned that I have to watch in case I am creating unnecessary complexity just for the sake of it. Daniela’s proposition that we observe and investigate complexity was another (and very welcome) way to investigate this territory.
During that week, I waited with hand-clasped longing to know if I would be allowed to take three days off work to attend the Mirrors level workshop with Alain Allard this week. After several canceled meetings, I resorted to sending a long, impassioned email to my supervisor. I kept checking inboxes and not seeing a response. I began to develop a disgruntled retort and became increasingly heartsunken, wondering if I would have to decide between waiting twenty years to do advanced 5Rhythms workshops or quitting my job.
I am proud of myself for even asking. I had briefly considered calling in sick for the three days, but decided against it. To ask, I had to put a lot of eggs into a basket; and it frightened me. I realized I was expending considerable social capital; and wondered if it was an impossible request anyway. I very much believe in setting firm intentions, but I kept letting myself slide—for example missing the opportunity to do the Cycles workshop with Jonathan in Philadelphia last October. Which is why I was elated when I finally received an email from my boss giving me permission to take the three days off of work so I could do the five day workshop. Amazing! Extraordinary. Scary.
Lately, my five-year-old son has been asking about religion. This week he posed the question, “Mommy, what is religion?” The best I could do was, “Religion is a way that people relate to God—or Gods or divinity—usually in community.” That, of course, meant nothing to him. I tried to explain a little about the Hasidic people who were in view outside the car window. I explained that our family is Catholic and that Daddy’s family is Seventh Day Adventist. “Mommy, what religion are we?” This was an even harder question to answer. Finally, after casting about at length, I offered, “I actually think my religion is dance.” He replied, “Well, I think my religion is play.” I smiled and let the conversation rest there for now.
As I was saying, Friday night class this week was divine for me. The moment that I noticed that it was hard to move around because everyone seemed rooted in their place and Tammy proposed that we notice and investigate the spaces between each other, we shifted into a different plane entirely. The room was alive with awareness, and I moved seamlessly from partner to partner. Typically, when I am delighted it is because I love how I am moving. On this night, I was delighted because of the availability of connection and participation.
During the parenthesis for verbal teaching and demonstration in the middle of class, Tammy offered a teaching about curiosity. She started by asking if anyone was brand new to the practice. Then, she reminded us that we are all, in fact, brand new, since we bring something different to the dance every time we come to it. She modeled sort of a bored wave—but by the time she got to the end it seemed to overtake her and the boredom opened into something else. She spoke as though she were a practitioner who thought she really had a handle on practice and knew just how to do it. When she got to the Lyrical part of the wave, she said, “I have a responsibility to curiosity,” as she moved her hand in a kind of growing circle. From this perspective, an honest dance becomes a matter of integrity. Curiosity becomes not simply capricious, but necessary, fundamental and correct. Wholesome, even.
I shared many exquisite dances. With my friend Daniel, who I have not really danced with in months, I found a playful Lyrical—filled with stops and bursts. I also shared a fascinating and engaging dance in Chaos with a small, powerful woman who kept her face entirely covered with her dark, matted hair. At the end of the first wave, I danced with a man I have never seen before. I was totally drawn in and we moved together with influences of Latin, Brazilian and Afrobeat music, though the instructions were to move throughout the room. With him, my mind kept telling me to slow down, settle in, stop doing. I suddenly noticed that I had spent a period of the class with a slightly frantic energy and was able to open to a more relaxed mindset.
The More Than This (Mirrors) workshop starts today. Wish me luck!
April 15, 2015, NYC
by meghanleborious | Mar 24, 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.
Peter Fodera’s one-day Flowing workshop was held at the Paul Taylor Studio on the Lower East Side. I remember once during a class Tammy said that when she first met Peter, he seemed so divine she wasn’t sure he was actually of this world. I try to attend every teaching he offers in New York City and have always felt challenged, supported and inspired by him. It was my first time at Paul Taylor Studio, and novelty peaked my attention as I made my way in the door and up one flight of stairs to the foyer. The space struck me as clean and chic, with high ceilings, open stairs, translucent walls, and cut-out spaces for sunlight to move freely.
The rhythms of Gabrielle Roth’s 5Rhythms practice include Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical and Stillness. Flowing is the first by design; and we are taught that Flowing is the essential foundation of every other rhythm. Its hallmarks are being aware of the feet on the floor or ground, unending circular motion, looking for and moving into empty space, in-breath, and an attitude of receptivity and curiosity.
After greeting many smiling friends, I stepped into the lovely studio, bowing as I crossed the threshold, as is my habit. The black floor was marked and scuffed in subtle, layered patterns that, upon inspection, seemed to have marble-like depth. Crossing the large black rectangle of the dance floor, I stepped into a balcony-like space with a white floor and an entire wall of curving windows that look onto the lower east side and the raised subway tracks peeking from behind a stand of tall buildings.
Martha Peabody had created an installation between the threshold of the two floors and facing onto the large dance floor. Its setting was rectangular, as well, and featured leaf-green netting over a soccer-goal shaped form and fabric of an array of shades and textures of green—the color associated with the rhythm of Flowing. On this foundation, Martha had placed a curving line of wooden shoe forms, mature plants potted in sculpted tins, balls of moss, candles and white roses. She also created perhaps a dozen little wooden stands, each holding a dense cabbage like a head manikin, and each topped with an exquisitely-rendered crown or headdress. Materials included antique clothespins, feathers, glitter, pearls, beading, decorative sewing pins, collected baby forks, a tiny bird, veils and paper lace. A special pussywillow crown had a place of honor on a small, wooden child’s chair in the middle of the installation in honor of Peter’s birthday.
Leading up to the workshop, I was nothing but eager. I noted that I had no ambivalence whatsoever about spending a day investigating the rhythm of Flowing. My one mild hesitation was that I wondered if a one-day workshop would allow time to both come apart and to re-member. I noted that I was a bit nervous about the possibility of coming apart without being able to work through it. In the past, I have only done three-day workshops or workshops that meet once a week for multiple weeks; and in most cases, the narrative arc of the workshop involved some kind of descent, unraveling or release, and then some kind of re-integration.
Peter’s choices of music made it easy to move; and I stepped directly into the river of Flowing—with seemingly perfect release, engagement and fluidity. I felt emotional and was moved by artistic visions, finding infinite new ways to move. I investigated the room, flowing into all its corners and looking into the high-above theatrical works. I felt like a spring stream finding its way downhill, rushing around rocks and fallen trees, swirling, crashing upward, falling back, and then being pulled forward with vigor. It is beyond joyful—these rare moments when movement is perfectly aligned with the inner and outer environments.
I anticipated that we would engage deeply with the “pure” rhythm of Flowing, as opposed to its shadow, but Peter had different ideas. When we say the “pure” rhythm, we mean the rhythm itself, when we talk about the “shadow” of a rhythm, we are talking about a face of the same rhythm that could be read as a different—or even as an opposing—aspect. For example, the pure rhythm of Flowing is Flowing; and the shadow of Flowing is Inertia.
Which is why the day before, when we had blue sky in New York, and a little kiss of spring, I said, “Yes! Let it in, let it in, let it in!” With in-breaths—with inspiration—with open arms, and with feet moving with gratitude on the soon-to-awaken earth. After a grueling winter with many prolonged periods of constraint and a long, thick illness, I was more than ready. I note that letting in joy is not the easiest thing for me. I might even freak out if I get too happy. In fact, I have often prioritized investigating my dark, complex recesses over engaging with simple joys.
Of all of the five rhythms, Flowing has been my most valuable teacher, especially since it is so far from how I experience myself in the world. I was surprised after the opening wave when Peter pointed us toward the shadow of Flowing, since I felt like the pure rhythm of Flowing was unusually available to me. This may or may not have been true for my fellow practitioners; and no doubt there were at least a few who were unintentionally in Inertia, the shadow of Flowing, throughout the workshop. I guess I had assumed that there was so much to investigate just in the straightforward rhythm that the shadow of Flowing would not be a dominant theme.
I am an absurdly compliant student when it comes to the 5Rhythms. Believe me, you would not say this of me in other arenas. They probably have my face on a dartboard in the department office where they administered my most recent college degree, for example. But in 5Rhythms, I wholeheartedly take on whatever investigation I am assigned. So when Peter pointed us toward the shadow, I tried every experiment, at once realizing that I remained very much in the pure rhythm of Flowing. I guess it is possible that only in the face of the shadows can you really find the depths of each rhythm.
At any rate, I felt shining, ecstatic. I had the perfect reserve of energy to draw on and I moved effortlessly throughout the space. I knew I couldn’t force the Shadow’s hand; and that to do so would have been an act of aggression against myself. Within the meditation tradition I am trained in, nothing is wrong. It is not like anything goes, though. On the contrary, it is very precise, but it is all about how you relate to everything. To me in this moment, opening to the joy of letting spring in was skillful, even if it meant I couldn’t fully enact the instructions.
In the middle of the day, Peter asked why some of us take ourselves out of the dance when we get to Stillness. “Did I take myself out of the dance?” I wondered. Faces around the big circle we sat in looked quizzical and slightly tight. “Did I do something wrong?” I wondered. Peter mentioned that according to Gabrielle, it is important to keep the eyes open. I have often wondered about this, since what, exactly, to do with the eyes has been an important consideration in the meditation tradition I have trained in, also. At a 5Rhythms workshop, I once posed this question to the teacher. “Is keeping the eyes open an important part of the practice?” In contrast to Peter’s suggestion, that teacher explained that the instruction to keep the eyes open is really more about safety than anything else. I continued to wonder about this point.
Some practitioners and teachers in attendance shared that the chance to close the eyes and turn inward might be valuable, and we might seem to have stopped moving, but to instead be moving with such subtlety that we only appeared to have stopped. I experimented with applying the idea I was trained with in meditation practice: what if nothing is ever wrong, per se, but the question is, rather, how am I relating to this?
I realize that there are many reasons I might choose to close my eyes. One is because I have been swept away with the abandon of the room, and need to find the beat again inside my body. This is especially true when a new song begins in Staccato. I often need a quiet moment to turn in and find out how the rhythm of the song affects my heartbeat, so I don’t just rush into it without awareness. Another is that with my eyes shut or lowered, I may discover a different kind of seeing that is not available with my eyes open. Yet another is that sometimes my body has to go all out, with total abandon and maybe even with artfulness. I am afraid of showing off, and if I shut or lower my eyes, I can’t tell if anyone is watching or seeing me, so I don’t hold myself back just to not-show-off. I have spent huge amounts of life inappropriately trying to contain myself, and sometimes I need this little trick to let wild grace overtake me when it arrives. And yes, sometimes I shut my eyes because I don’t feel like dealing or because I want to withdraw. Which might be ok, too. Maybe even correct at certain moments.
I think Peter said we did a wave with the Shadow of Flowing in each of the other rhythms. This is a bit tricky for me to understand. I understand the idea of doing a Wave in the shadows of each rhythm, but this is another step removed. Whatever the nature of the frame, I continued to move with joy, creativity and specificity.
When prompted to experiment with the restless aspect of Staccato’s shadow, I began to pace between four doors which were situated in each corner of the dance floor. When Peter asked, “What do you do when you get restless?” I went right into a currently unfolding situation. I really wanted to huff away—to leave dramatically; and I kept storming toward each of the four doors. After many charges, I found a sharp little dance of “this can’t be this can’t be this can’t be yet I have no power the only thing I can do is be sharp show contempt and walk away.” No further insights have emerged; and the situation I was sketching continues.
After so much emphatic movement and so many wholehearted experiments, or perhaps because the shadow fell over me at last, I grew tired and stayed more or less in one spot. The day ended with people actually wearing and dancing with Martha’s spectacular crowns. I approached the altar several times, wanting to wear one crown in particular. It had a netted veil that could be drawn over the eyes and a tiny toy bird perched on it. It seemed too immersed in its environment to remove it, but eventually I gathered enough courage and danced briefly with it on my head—thinking it an auspicious ritual as we move into spring, into new beginnings, into subtle and un-subtle unfurlings, and (I hope) into joy and inspiration.
March 10, NYC
by meghanleborious | Mar 15, 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’s Sweat Your Prayers class was held at the Martha Graham Studio on Bethune Street in the West Village rather than at the Joffrey Studio. I arrived on time and whisper-stepped onto the one-step-up sprung floor. I found movement easily, and felt rising emotion as I started to find my feet. The room was neither too warm nor too cold, and I sensed the flush of spring’s optimism despite the tenacious grip of winter. I hadn’t danced (officially) for two weeks. My two most recent dances before this hiatus had ended painfully, with constraint and distraction. Today, it was like my body re-set itself. I found an entirely new dance—investigating suspension with many tiny articulations inside of big, expressive gestures. On the floor, I began to stretch and twist, attenuating the farthest reaches of myself and letting the end of the stretch curve back in, moving naturally into circular motion and to Flowing.
I very much wanted to connect and moved around the room, falling into step with everyone I encountered. I noticed that although I tend to be bold about approaching people to dance with them, I am very quick to move away if they are not immediately receptive. There are often many layers to intention; and I note that, in part, I don’t want to invade anyone’s space. And I sometimes like to move through the whole room without settling in with anyone so I can enjoy the experience of being in the human field. Also, I think part of me is afraid of being rejected.
When someone else approaches to dance with me, it might take me awhile to key into their advance and to warm up to the idea of accepting it. If someone is persistent without being aggressive, I might appreciate that they really want to dance with me in particular, and that they have made a conscious choice to connect. I vowed to experiment with staying a little longer in instances when I approach someone to dance but they don’t immediately (or obviously) engage in partnership.
I note a parallel in my job-work life at the moment. Sometimes I start out gung-ho, then if I encounter resistance, I pull back. Perhaps it is unrelated, but simultaneous to this noticing, I managed to find a new angle—a new way to approach my work with integrity and excitement, rather than by giving up and retreating when I feel like I am running into a wall. For some reason, I still have to remind myself to look for the empty space, especially when I am in partnership.
I was slightly apprehensive about dance this morning. Sometimes when I have a run of unpleasant experiences, I start to fear that the dances of freedom, athleticism, creativity, insight and connectedness that I often experience have evaporated forever. Tears came and went as I was swept by inspiration, repeatedly raising my hands high overhead and arching back with my eyes upward, taking in the antique tin ceiling and stage lights as my head swept back and then rolled forward dramatically again.
During the Stillness after a recent yoga class, the instructor suggested that we should invite what we need into our lives. For me, the first word that came to mind was “inspiration.” The winter has been long and grueling; and although I am not consciously begging for spring, I feel emotionally exhausted. Money has been tight, work has been rock-and-hard-place-y, sleep has been brief, and long dormant issues have reared their heads with unexpected vehemence.
Tammy reminded us that the neighbors below the Martha Graham Studio do not appreciate dancers’ feet pounding heavily on the floor above them, and I experimented with gentle feet, only occasionally forgetting and punctuating a movement of the hips with a sharp, percussive stomp. Knowing how to be powerful without making loud noise is a skill I would do well to learn.
After the first wave, I felt connected and porous. That is to say, I felt like my energy field was uncompressed and could easily mingle with the energy fields of other practitioners. I was able to do what I call “passing through practice,” something that was taught to me by an ancient spirit. I mean, that Iimagine an ancient spirit taught to me.
I wrote this at the time:
“A couple of weeks ago during Jonathan’s class, I (imagined I) was seeing everyone’s
spirits including my own: light bodies, pain bodies, and a diffuse kind of
light. One of my spirits—I think a very old male ancestor—really wanted
to interact with me. At first I felt nervous because he was
manifesting differently than what I usually see. He was more like a shadow
spirit. But I told him, it’s OK, I am not afraid, I am totally porous and I
am not afraid of you. So he started to dance with me, to overlap with me,
and to pass through me. It had never occurred to me that possession could be
so gentle. At times both our spirits were intermingled. Then, everyone
else’s personal energy fields were kind of passing through mine, and mine
through theirs.” –January, 2009
This practice is absolutely not available unless I am in a connected and porous state, but if I am blessed to arrive there, it is simply a matter of intention and shifted perspective.
My energy faltered slightly as we moved toward the end of the class, but I left feeling uplifted and re-connected with myself. Stepping out onto Bethune Street, I found deep slush, hard winds and steadily falling snow. But my heart held a tiny sunshine, reminding me that after a particularly aggressive winter, the awakening of spring is all the more glorious.
March 1, 2015, NYC
