Our Daily Dance: An Intention
I returned late last night from the annual Dance New England summer camp near Lake Ossipee in New Hampshire, and woke this morning with dancing tape still on a couple of toes, the echo of taut and trained muscle still in the sinews, and the ache of separation from that vibrant and affectionate community of dancers already wringing out some sighs.
A beautiful family event that has been going on for some 30 years, DNE Camp attracts top-quality teachers and chefs and musicians from all over, offering the best of what they have to upwards of 800 participants. The cost of classes, food and lodging is all part of the modest fee. This year, like most years, there were community elders in attendance, and adults who at one time were babies born to this once-a-year village; there were newly-inspired youth from all over the States and abroad; and toddlers to teens who arrived with their parents for this summertime camp.
A couple of days ago, I was resting in the sun on the camp green (post-yoga, post-breakfast, post improvisational jam) when a woman and her young son walked past in conversation:
Son: Mommy, why can’t we live like this all the time? Mother: … Mother: (a deep breath in) I don’t know, sweetheart. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?
I had, a few minutes before, asked myself the same question, and then verbalized it to a friend: if we are able to create such full and vibrant lives here, even for such a short time, isn’t there a way to pursue this (aside: really pursue it, as a hunter after prey; after its scent because of hunger, because everything must eat; because there is drought where you stand; because that beautiful creature must be caught and sacrificed with spirit and with honor; because the desert is sacred but empty, and the mountain is sacred but barren; because where there is water others also seek water; because the smallest draught clears your parched throat, and you can sing again; because when you can sing you want to sing; because struggle relaxes near water; because a relaxing heart is an opening heart; because, because…) isn’t there a path to pursue this, in our quotidian avenues and structures and ways of thought?
contactimprov.org
Often when you travel (if you dare to travel) outside the brick walls of your daily life, you have this splendid opportunity to glance behind and see what the building of your habits looks like. It’s not visual, of course. Maybe it would be better to say: by watching your mind, your body and your heart responding to a new environment, it is natural to note the differences between that which you are exploring and that which you have been living. The difference may crowd your throat with emotions.
I found that, spending days physically engaged with these creative and loving people, I was watering the flower of my own creativity. Really pouring it on. You know, the dance you see on the surface of the body, that movement of arms and legs and connections and departures, actually takes place first and fundamentally within the subtle body: the spirit wakens, yawns, stretches and… smiles… and what may have been a bowed and laboring posture becomes a light and lifted one. I finished a song whose second and fifth stanzas had been stalled for months. I wrote another: and the new song was one of gratitude and praise for living. I strengthened my muscles with daily yoga, applied them to community labor, and softened them with this delightful interpersonal inquiry through words and through glances and through shared movement.
You’ve got to listen when that music plays. And, listening, make choices.
For years my children have been party to my living-room concerts (audience: two), and telling me that I need to record my music, get it on YouTube at least, share it. I think that we are best models for our children when we are courageous – from whatever place we stand now, out of whatever misplaced inhibitions and limitations are there – to keep growing into the places where we are forced to stretch, to stretch with stability and generosity and with purpose, and to say by our own actions: I can, you can. Returning home from excellent conversation with musical members of the DNE community, I have put my vocal and instrumental microphones back on their stands, unpacked my analog-to-digital pre-amp, and installed recording software on my computer.
Message for my deeply-loved children: accompanied, it can be done.
I’ve also begun to outline an 8-week class for our local yoga center, where shared movement and conscious communication will be used as a clean mirror and an exploration of Self. The intention is to deepen relationships, and the essential first step is to support our own emotional literacy, adding language to how we speak with our hearts, with our hands and with our eyes.
Based on years of practice with T’ai Chi, yoga, modern dance, martial arts, community building and Contact Improvisation, the frame I’ll offer is safe exploration of the smallest, least-threatening boundaries: those which nonetheless exist, subconsciously, and can box us in, diminishing the color, texture and warmth of our relationships. Action is so often automatic; when we learn and practice being present, we begin to recognize and work with our discomforts. Naming them, we own them. Now that is empowering!
Why can’t we live as we do at DNE Camp all the time? Ah, there are so many demands, some so loud they are difficult to ignore. Yet… with small steps, with evolution not revolution, we draw in what is beautiful with the strength of a fierce hug(!), and doing so, gently elbow what is gray and unrefined out of our way.