heavy head uplifted, I do not close the book

Last night we danced "The Loon" for the second time. The piece of paper I had been eyeing, was snatched up by G, and when she read it, I knew it was my line for the evening too. I chose my own, and it too spoke to me but not as much as

 with his heavy head uplifted he calls out. 

My line was, 

 I do not close the book.

My thoughts and my body responded to both lines in the poem, as though they were my own. After all, the words are all ours for the taking and G sweetly said, I could "have" hers as well. My body felt a dance of hopefulness, rising up with, as the music crescendoed. 

My thoughts and my body explored the ways that we can be present for those in our lives, how we hold each other up at challenging times, as well as lean into each other during times of joy. How do you listen to the quiet calls out of your loved one, even if he is whispering his calls. When our heads are heavy, we don't have to hold them up alone. We can whisper our needs or shout them out, with hopes of being heard. We can reach out, and trust, that we are not alone in our struggles, although sometimes it feels as such. It is a learning to ask for help. Our society dictates self sufficiency, and does not praise us for needing, but how could we sustain our lives without needing, support, reaching, interdependence? As it is said, 

"Joy shared is twice the joy. Sorrow shared is half the sorrow."

And so I listen, I try to sit with the quiet, in order to   hear the very soft whispers, imperceptible at times. I hear them. The road doesn't seem smooth, the journey doesn't feel even or easy, but I can travel it none the less, knowing that I can help hold up the heads of the people in my life, and remember, that I too do not have to hold my head up alone. I read on, travel on, live on, the story continues,  I do not close the book..........

The Loon    ~ Mary Oliver

Not quite four a.m., when the rapture of being alive strikes me from sleep, and I rise from the comfortable bed and go to another room, where my books are lined up

in their neat and colorful rows. How

magical they are! I choose one and open it. Soon I have wandered in over the waves of the words to the temple of thought.                                            

And then I hear outside, over the actual waves, the small, perfect voice of the loon. He is also awake, and with his heavy head uplifted he calls out to the fading moon, to the pink flush swelling in the east that, soon, will become the long, reasonable day.                                                 

 Inside the house it is still dark, except for the pool of lamplight in which I am sitting.

                             

Neither, for a long while, do I read on.

 I do not close the book.

Kelp

How wonderful it felt to be able to be in town to be a part of dance on Sunday. Winky put out the prompt for us to consider, kelp. What an intriguingly visual  image, to conjure up in my mind and translate into and through my body.


Kelp survival is positively correlated with the strength of the substrate. The larger and stronger the rock on which it is anchored, the greater the chance of kelp survival. Winter storms and high-energy environments easily uproot the kelp and can wash entire plants ashore.



Indeed, that translates to life as it feels right now. Trying to stay strong and rooted deeply, to withstand the storms of life, and to stay anchored, to survive amidst this high-energy environment called life.

Holding Memories in Your Heart

When one leaves for the stars, that person will be the one to blink at you in the night-sky and show you the way. While s/he will no longer be able to touch your hands s/he will forever be able to touch your heart. Karla A. Claeys, M.A

Looking Upward

Looking around, it seems as if so many people I know are feeling the weight of a dark cloud, and trying to come out from under it to see the light. It feels like I am trying to find the quiet within the storm, to find that resting place, within and without, to make room to breathe. I am about to go to dance to try to allow that space. Sometimes all the moving and busyness gets in the way of finding that quiet respite. I have to remind myself that the quiet, the stillness does exist, if you stop for a moment and let it emerge. It is always there, it is just often clouded over by the doing. The stars exist all the time, even when we cannot see them. Ironically, the doing, the moving through dance, helps me carve out a space for the quiet. I just have to remember sometimes, in the words of James Taylor, to

~~ "look up from your life"~~~

And Then You Dance!

Last night I was overjoyed, to be able to have a clear head and heart and attend dance. It was a celebratory dance for me, a celebration of life! I danced with every bit of heart, and soul and energy I could draw from within, as we said our final goodbye to dancing Mary Oliver's poem, The Messenger. We had been saving our weekly lines in an envelope, and last night was the night we each gathered our lines and rearranged, reconfigured, reinvented, transformed and paste our lines onto our envelope to share, and then to dance. The poems my fellow dancers spontaneously created, in reaction to their saved lines, moved me and astonished me, (one of the words of her poem, by the way, was ASTONISHED). My lines, created themselves into the perfect Messenger poem for me to dance my celebration. I continue to be grateful for a place to show up and dance my life, however it shows up at that moment. Having a place to retreat to each week, when my life and my body allow, is a blessing, as is my dance community. It is my spiritual practice. The past week was more challenging than imaginable, and being able to dance it out , was a true gift. When I danced on Sunday, my dance was much different. It was filled with fear, trepidation, tentativeness, the unknown, contraction, smallness, powerlessness, rubber leggedness, and emotions that I could not even begin to name. Last night was different, a very different dance. It was a different life I was dancing in. A dance of new beginning, of hope, of gratefulness, a feeling of a personal Spring. This is how my poem became my dance of the moment, reinventing Mary Oliver's words, to perfectly fill me, the way I needed to be filled last night. Her words are like chameleons, and they never cease to amaze me, even when we took liberties with the original poem, to be what we needed her words to be for each of us:

"We live forever.

Are my boots old?  Is my coat torn?

We live forever.

The phoebe, the delphinium,

We live forever.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird~~

and THAT is how and why,

We live forever"

Hope ~  by Emily Dickenson    Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune--without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

When I Don't Know Where to Put It

When emotions well up inside, and I don't know what to do with them, I take some solace in the gift of having my hands connected to my heart, soul and spirit. Through them, flows the energy of my emotions, whether it be sculpting, writing, creating an assemblage, or as in this case, drawing. I bought four large sheets of delicious Stonehenge paper and new blocks of soft graphite about a month ago, with the intention of trying a drawing series, something I haven't done in a long time.  For some reason, this time, the paper and graphite called to me, instead of the clay. It called to me to lay down a deep thick ground of dark grey and then with an eraser, chisel away at the dark and find the light. By sculpting the graphite, I am always awed by the experience, in which my head becomes detached in a sense from my hand, and my heart and spirit flow through and leave a creation. By adding and subtracting the dark and light, the images begin to reveal themselves and tell me their story, a story that only becomes visible to me sometime after their creation. The titles seem to drift into my consciousness as well, from somewhere I have yet to discover. The two offering so far are,

 "Under The Wings of Love"

 "Let Me Be Your Anchor" 

They speak volumes to me. I don't know when the next two will "become", but I trust that they will. The lines, the dark, the light, are lifelines as life itself, 

"For only in darkness can you see the stars"~~Dr. Martin Luther King

To Savor

As the sun set over Phillips lake, it became difficult to tell where the sky began and the water and land started. With camera in hand, the water beckoned me off the porch and down the hill a bit. My footing felt precarious as I continued forward, not really having a sense of when I reach the water. 

I was mesmerized by the deceptive horizon line. I felt very discombobulated, and for a moment could not tell which end was up or down. I was transported. I attempted to take a picture of this magnificent vision, but of course, without my tripod in tote, I knew the picture would never come out, but I tried in vain anyway. I took three pictures, that came out totally dark as expected, although I unrealistically hoped that my camera might help me to seize the magical moment, for me to hold onto, to remind me of the moment, if I happened to forget over time.  

I felt as though I had stepped into a Rorshach test, a psychological test in which a subject's interpretations of a series of standard inkblots are analyzed as an indication of personality traits, preoccupations, and conflicts. The sky and land as reflected in the water, were absolutely identical. I wondered if there was someone on the other side of the lake having a parallel experience with me, as part of the collective consciousness that I believe exists in our world. The moment of limbo was fleeting, but pulled me deeply into a feeling that I have not experienced before, and it felt surreal. The force was palpable. I stayed with the moment for just a bit longer, until there was nothing to see but darkness in front of me, but upon looking up, I saw a sky filled with countless stars. An entire other world was mine, and all I had to do was to look up from my life, from holding onto the fleeting moments that you want to last forever, and in that holding on to the past, sacrifice missing the next gift that is there for the savoring. Savoring involves noticing and appreciating the positive aspects of life to their fullest.

The brightness of the most massive planet of the solar system, Jupiter, glowed with a muted halo surrounding, it that was hypnotic. Jupiter is the god of the sky and is often associated with the eagle. It spins faster than any other planet, which I unfortunately identify with. Ironically,savoring life starts with a mindset. It's a mindset that believes that excess, that rushing, that busy-ness, that distractedness is not a healthy way to experience life. Savoring cannot coexist with spinning at the speed of Jupiter.

In the end,there was no way my camera could capture what I was experiencing at that moment. Somethings just can't be recorded, but have to be just experienced, savored, and that has to be enough..........and it was.

Without Dance We Are Lost revisited

Yesterday, I gifted myself with a second viewing of Pina in 3-D at the Living Room Theatre. As I entered the theatre, The Lorax was just ending. There was one man and his little boy, viewing the film, having the theatre all to themselves. I looked up and saw the ending quote of the film,


 "Unless someone like you.. cares a whole awful lot.. nothings going to get better, its not.."


As they passed me leaving the theatre, the boy looked up at his dad and said "that was great"! and I felt warm inside, cherishing my loved ones, a feeling that grows stronger each day, and truly taking in those words, that I too believe.


As I snuggled in to once again experience the enormous richness of the film, I was filled with anticipation. There are so many dimensions to the film, that seeing it again, was like seeing it again for the first time. What struck me this time, was the surrealist quality that Pina imparted into her choreographed morsels. I was absorbed in both the movement and narratives, but saw a sort of existentialist, absurdist, surrealistic humor, sadness in the depth of the beauty, isolation, connection, trust and surrender of the dancers to the process, nature, each other and the dance. The contrast was so powerful. As the dancers fell deeper into their experience, they took me with them. I am not sure, bu I will possible go back to see it a third time, since I trust I will experience it on an even deeper level. As I have experienced in my personal dance, the more you trust the process, the more you sink deeper into the dance, the cracks appear and you enter the unknown and therein lie the openings to new beginnings, in dance as in life.

Sweet Moments When Fate Shines Down on You

Last Wednesday, I finally returned to work at the Museum of Contemporary Craft and got into a conversation about the things we are gifted with from our elders. Do we save them or use them. Is it destroying them if we create art with them, or are we transforming them, giving them a new life? I am referring specifically to the monogramed hankies that I have from my mother, mother in law, and two grandmothers. When Gabby told me she was making a quilt out of those delicate hankies gifted to her by her grandmother, that she would use to enjoy  summer picnic,s it made me ask myself that question. Do we hold on to them as they were, preciously stored away, or do we use them? My first thought was, OH NO! you will ruin them, and then I realized that they have no life in them, as they lay closed up in the drawer somewhere. The next day, I decided to use one. As I readied myself to attend a dance performance, I selected one with the monogram "F", my mother's hankie, and placed it into my purse. When I went to get my ticket from my calendar for the evenings performance, I noticed that it was going to be danced at the Newmark Theatre, the same theatre I had carefully chosen the seat on which to have plaque installed on the armrest to honor my mom.  When I looked at the ticket, my heart skipped a beat, as I realized that the ticket I was holding was only a few seats from the one I had dedicated to my mom. As I walked downtown to meet my friends for dinner, I had butterflies in my stomach in anticipation and hopes, that one of the other six members of our group held the ticket for the seat I longed to sit it, seat H-5, H for my mom's last name and 5 for the day she brought me into the world. Sure enough, when I asked, someone had the ticket and was happy to switch with me.

 I entered the Newmark theatre with a feeling I could not quite name. I held the ticket preciously in my hand, as I awaited entry to the theatre.  I sat in the seat, our seat, and gently fondled the plaque on the right armrest, and read the inscription with reverence and love. I thought about the hours, too many to count, that my mom and I spent at the theatre, enjoying the ballet, throughout my childhood and into my teen years. I wondered if she would have liked this performance, that was rather dark yet powerful. I caught a whiff of perfume from another patron in my row, which made it hard for me to breathe, and I remembered how the smell of my mother's perfume always bothered me. Smell is such a memory trigger. As I became engage in the dance, I thought less about my mom, but held onto the arm of her seat just the same. I left not knowing if fate would look down on me, and wondered if I would ever have the chance, the gift, of sitting in that seat again. None the less, the seat and the plaque, the memory remains. As I write this, I have the ticket sitting next to me, on my armrest at home, although only the stub remains, I am saving it just the same.

2012 table & Chair Affair Update

6th Annual table & CHAIR AFFAIR Many of you were a big part of making this event  so fun, fabulous, and fruitful.   Together, we've raised $127,932 and counting!

When Do Know When The TIme is Right?

I have been waiting and wondering, with great frustration, for a sign to come to me to know when the time would be right to return to dance. I am still struggling with back and mostly hip pain, stuck energy, chi, according to my acupuncturist, so how would I know when to be able to resume dancing? After much deliberation yesterday, I decided that last night was the time to dive in gently and try to meet my body where it is now, and dance. To even change my definition of what dance is. I knew I would have to take extra care of my body, and stay present with it at ever moment, not something I like to practice. For some reason, I felt unnecessarily nervous going back, but it reminded me of Where The Wild Things Are,  when Max returns home after all his adventures, and "his dinner was still warm". Well, my place in the dance studio was kept warm for me by my dance family. I even had an envelope waiting for me with some lines chosen for me, and saved by my fellow dancers in my absence. It was so sweet to sip that nectar, and receive my much missed and needed hugs. They told me I had had the best lines and I agree. The three lines were:

"I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of 

nothing"! 

(Indeed I want that!!!)

"full of gorgeous life" (Yes! Yes!)

"and you try" (always a bit too much)

So I decided to "try". My body at once felt at home, as I chose my own line this time, from the current Mary Oliver poem, The Messenger, and it could not have been more perfect, once again:

 "Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird"

It made me think about my experience at the lake this past week and my life. I was gifted with the spotting of no less than three hummingbirds on my feeder at once! I thought about how hard the hummingbird works to stay suspended in air, as it flutters it's wings, sipping the nectar, yet he makes it look effortless. They can actually hover in mid-air by rapidly flapping their wings 12–80 times per second although they appear to be suspended and still. I think it sometimes must seem like I "do" life effortlessly, yet I work incredibly hard at it, yet rarely stay still. What lessons to be learned from observing nature, and then from looking within. Can I stop flapping my wings, and trying so hard? Can I slow down and listen to the rhythm within? Can I truly try to make my life feel effortless. The only deadlines are those I choose, yet I always feel as if I am flapping 80 times per second. Where does the effortlessness lie?


I thought about how the large sunflower reaches toward the sun, even during times when she is not aware that the sun, the hope of summer, is there for the reaching. It grows tall and strong each year and then drops it's seeds for the future. 

There were many lines that resonated with me from the poem last night.

Winky's:

 "Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?",

made me think of the comfort of wearing or experiencing something that is so known and so incredibly comfortable that it feels like a second skin like Tim's line:

 "these body-clothes"

the place that gives us comfort but is not necessarily the persona we wear in the world. 

An then of course G's line:

"Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? "

What is young? Is it a number, a feeling in an aging hurting body, or a feeling in one's heart and spirit. I choose to stay young even though my body so often tells me differently. And what is "half-perfect"? Is there such a thing? I have always felt that way, but there is such a yearning energy to be somehow better, and one I would like to discard like a lizard leaves his no longer useful skin.

And finally, Michael, who was celebrating having turned an amazing 70 years old, the day before, and seems like he is in his 50's in movement, body and spirit. His line was:

"Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here".

That is the biggest piece to try to remember. All the ingredients are here, and you don't have to flap your wings 80 times a second to stay aloft in the air or to stay afloat in life, to keep your head above water. You don't have to try. All the ingredients are indeed here already in this moment, this body, at this age, in this heart and spirit. And my heart does not have to beat 23 times a second, like the hummingbird, to do this!

Messenger


by Mary Oliver


"My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?
                                                                                          Let me keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, 


since all the ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, 


to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over,


 how it is that we live forever."

Benediction

The air is crisp and the sun is bright as it glistens on the lake. I watch ducks make crash landings, the gulls soar low over the water, scoping out their dinner, the rooster sings in the background, (in fact I saw a sign for fresh eggs across the street today), the gnats skim the water's surface, causing rings to radiate from the center, (as things have a tendency to do), where they lighted upon it, the crows caw, and I feel like I am the only one privileged to witness this moment. I breathe in the fir scented aroma of someone's fireplace and there is a palpable stillness, however the moment is cut short by the buzz saw of someone clearing the trees from their land. I put on my headphones, although I did not want to miss nature's song, but felt I had no choice, if I was to continue to enjoy the moment. The song that came on was Jami Sieber's  song, Benediction. Of the 63 possible songs in the shuffle, the perfect one came on to seize that moment in time. I thought about the meaning of Benediction...... something that promotes goodness or well-being.....the utterance or bestowing of a blessing.......an invocation of divine blessing...... the state of being blessed........indeed............

Courage

During my chiropractic appointment today, we spoke about the life long message I had always been given, that "you are too nice, you are too sensitive". Laura offered the possibility of reframing that message into it being a sign of being courageous. Being brave enough to stand up for what you believe in your core, as being the right thing. It is something that has been unsettling for me, this past week. I intuitively feel, that the work she was doing on my hip, feet and legs, which are still causing me pain, was meant to ground me in my body, in my convictions, to root me in myself and feed that courageousness. It is not easy to speak up for what you believe in, and not be rattled when others confront you with sometimes, rather harsh rebuttals. To not take it personally, and let it make you feel weak, or question what you believe deeply in your gut and heart. To accept that everyone does not have to like you, or agree with you, and that it does not make you into less of a person. On the contrary, I think these experiences are opportunities to grow out of your comfort zone, and hold onto your integrity, to make you feel stronger, more rooted and grounded in yourself, and more courageous. It is easier to stay silent, but that does not make me feel as if I am being true to myself. The CD, that softly plays in the background during the treatment, is of birds quietly chirping, reminding me that soon it will feel like spring, and that I will be ready to move through and out of my personal winter, where I have felt stuck. It makes me feel a bit more hopeful.

Long Weekend of Richness

Well, it all began with the energetic, hectic culmination of the Community Warehouse annual table & Chair Affair. The turnout was amazing and the usual rainy evening did not keep patrons and artists away. Tonight, I will get some of the numbers which I have been told exceeded our expectations, so I will be happy to report that news soon.


Friday night I saw an incredibly powerful and moving White Bird performance Kidd Pivot performing "Dark Matters". It presented me with many questions, emotions and room for possibilities, and trying to figure out some answers (a life long process I might add). It spoke to me about fate, who is the puppet and who is the puppeteer in our lives, how much can we control, how much choice do we have controlling our destiny, and how much do we just have to surrender to. To add to this emotional piece, was the realization toward the intermission, that I was in the Newmark Theatre. I wondered if the plaque I had ordered to honor my mom and her passing, and to celebrate the wonderful memories of attending the ballet and live theatre in NYC throughout my childhood with her, had been installed on it's seat: H for her last name and 5 for the day she gave birth to me. I went to the other side of the theater butterflies in my stomach, as I reached seat H-5. I was glad that the patrons in the audience, had left the row for a bit, and I gazed down and lightly touched, honored if you will, the plaque that bears her name and loving mother and grandmother on it. The poignant moment was so deep, sweet and painful yet filled me with great joy in the remembering. I was glad I had attended the performance alone, so I could just take this all in without words. I returned to my seat, and felt her presence with me as the dance reached it's crescendo, and knew that had it not been for her, I would never have developed my deep passion for the dance, as an observer and as a dancer. I felt spent by the end of the performance, and as I left the theatre, went to give the plaque a goodbye kiss with my fingertips.


Saturday held more richness, as I shared the Mark Rothko exhibit at the Portland Art Museum with my daughter Jenni. We learned a bit about his life and how it paralleled some of our immigrant relatives. My father having come to the US from Russia, as an infant, around the same time Rothko did, and then his time spent in NYC where my grandparents and parents also lived. I never knew that Rothko then lived a great deal of his life in Portland. We walked together, sharing our reactions to the paintings and our favorites. Jenni's comments left me with lots to think about, and helped me see the paintings through her eyes. It brought back memories of our frequent trips to the National Gallery of Art in DC when we lived there, and how the highlight of her day, when she was little, was the sweet little turkey on croissant lunch she savored in their cafe! It also got us very excited about our plans to see Red, at Center Stage the following day. We also were quite blown away at the unexpected amazing exhibit and films by John Frame, an artist that I had not been familiar with. In the dark rooms of the galleries, he created a world of wonder, as if stepping into one of his dreams, or possibly his nightmares. His 3-D diorama like work, spoke to me of some the same thoughts I had watching Dark Matters. The puppet and the puppeteer images, where ever present in his finely crafted other worldliness. After seeing these two exhibits, we were both on visual overload and decided that we had seen enough to satiate us for the day, (not without of course adding to my obsessive art book collection- I couldn't leave without taking a bit of John Frame home with me!)


Sunday completed the richness of the weekend with the amazingly powerful play Red. We also stayed after the play, for the discussion by a psychologist who attempted to give us a bit of insight into the man behind the paintings, Mark Rothko.


This was followed by an unbelievably wonderful dinner at June, a far cry from the lunch at the National Gallery! I truly feel like my cup runneth over with the richness of art, dance, theatre, family and memories.

Tomorrow is the BIG EVENT!!! The 2012 table & Chair Affair is Here!!!!

Well after months of working on my chairs and with the other artists on my team, the 2012 table & Chair Affair will finally come to fruition, a culmination of months and months of planning and work. The event will no doubt come off seamlessly, but the behind the scenes work of what puts this event together are huge. I am honored to be part of the Community Warehouse team. The Hot Seat cocktail hour tickets are SOLD OUT!!!!!!!! Amazing! There are still a few of the Reserved Seat dinner tickets left so this is your last chance to join in this amazing event. The over 100 artists and their phenomenal creations are even more outstanding than last years so check them out on line and be inspired. I am so proud that my three kids and their co-workers have been a part of the event this year. The Grishman's plus have created SEVEN items for the auction this year!!!!!!! Maybe you will think about joining the dinner party or think about making something next year.  


This gives you and idea where the funds have gone this past year. It also makes me truly grateful  that I have a home complete with everything I could ever need or want. Other ways to help are just by donating the used items that you might have to find a new home for at the Community Warehouse. There are lots of ways to get involved. Donate used items, volunteer in the Estate Store or the Warehouse, attend the Chair Affair or make a tax deductible donation. Either way you will feel good and sleep better knowing that others will now have a mattress to sleep on as well.

STATISTICS

Community Warehouse provided household goods to over 5,000 people in 2011. Here are some of the items we collected and redistributed to neighbors in need.

Mattresses	1,939
Pillows	2,188
Armchairs	795
Dressers	981
Sofas	798
Dish Sets	3,826
Pots & Pans	3,235
Lamps	1,773
Kitchen Tables	827
Microwaves	385
TVs	771