I am staying in my parents’ house. The house is in limbo, no longer their home but kept exactly as if they might return at any moment, though they they never will. Like a dreamy puppet, I walk up the stairs focusing on each step, the bend in my legs, the extension to climb, my spine, my doing this coming from a need to feel right here right now as the end of their life rears closer Read more
Most of us want a regular, dependable, effortless movement practice that will deliver fitness, and feelings of goodness and realness. We also want to be in the Moment. If we head down the delusional lane of finding a nice comfy routine, the Moment will never happen. The Moment–that elusive jewel beyond price–is not routine. Read more
Language inhibits our experience, a strong claim that I gleaned from a terrific Radiolab piece—’Unravelling Bolero’—about how Ravel’s ‘Bolero’, with its incessant repetitive theme, was a signpost of the beginning of a disease that over the next six years robbed the composer of his ability to speak, to recognize objects reliably, and other memory losses. Read more
I look out at Hermits Peak in New Mexico glowing fantastically in early day light. I let my eyes relax. My natural gaze, not reaching or glazing, just my eyes relaxing on this vision, leaning my visual capacity against the beauty. The wind swirls around me, sweet with the rain that tamped down the dust yesterday. Having the morning quiet to feel my eyes look and see, because so often they scan what is there and trigger it into what isn’t there, or take a shard of something– a table edge or a pine tree, for instance — and turn it into another tree from another time, mixing the two trees into one tree rather than just seeing what is right there Read more
The hardest thing for me about this past week is starting a new life. I’ve gotten reasonably good at this in my own sphere—projects, locations, content, people—but returning to visit my parents in my childhood home has been, for better or worse, changeless. Today I sat with my father at Spaulding Rehab Hospital observing his speech therapy. He relearns the language of counting to 5. How to touch five blue wooden blocks and count, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. How to look at the numeral ‘5’ and say five. Sometimes the therapist puts two blue blocks on one side and five blue blocks on the other and holds up a piece of paper with the numeral ‘5’ and says Which one is five? Read more
This video is for Trish, who kvetched to me about not having the perfect space to do her practice. Hahahahah…
This from Eric:
“I appreciated the tip about “abandon the search for the perfect setup.” I’ve been using that as an excuse to procrastinate [about doing my practice.] I live in a small camper van 3 days a week, and the “setup” inside is anything but perfect for dancing! But last night I fired up your Week 1 video [Move with Me] on my Android phone inside the RV, and found myself flailing about happily in the limited space. Read more
I read an exquisite passage this morning. Jane and Rochester are sitting in the orchard at dawn after the ghastly night of Mason being bitten and mauled. Jane doesn’t yet know the deep secret and Rochester is desperate to keep that truth from her. His life teeters at the edge of disaster. Bronte presents this dilemma by having Jane and Rochester speak about Thornfield Hall. Read more
Evie told Poppy how one day, nestled in the stalks of the Shasta daisy, she found a tiny neat nest of slender twigs stitched together with spider threads. In it were three speckled eggs. One was a dud but the other two hatched. At first day the babies were grotesque. Dark skin sealed big eye bulges shut. Yellow-rimmed beaks gaped automatically, fantastically whenever the leaves of the daisy stirred no matter what stirred them, and thin pink rib skin hammered out helpless, helpless.
Earth—what we are on. Sky—what we are in.
Earth is gravity. It is constant.
Sky is breath. It is cyclical.
During winter months in NYC, I teach a stellar Tuesday morning group. We’ve been working together for a number of years so I can go wherever the flow takes us. One morning last March, midway through the session after a long period of moving, they lay resting, all eyes closed, while I was watching the room, feeling my way through it. Were they sleeping? Reflecting, or struggling quietly? This was good, this internal chewing inside their beings. Read more