The Number 8

Today marks 8 years since I said goodbye to my bestie Cindy. It seems like she was always in my life but really we only had 8 years of friendship. The number 8 is symbolic for infinity and that is the true measure of my friendship and love for her. Since it was she who inspired this blog, I thought this 8th anniversary would be a good transition toward evolving my theme.
One of my favorite things is when a client leaves my chair and shakes her hair. There's something about a good haircut that lifts us up, inspires movement, brings out our vivacity. When I facilitate and hold space for a 5Rhythms® Sweat and see people come into their being, I have that same excitement. I love the irony that when we try to look good, we don't really look as great as when we let our "feel good" shine. We have this mastered as children and it gets pushed down by criticism and shaming. A good friend gave me feedback recently on my negative self-talk and how careful wording can make a difference in the way our brains fire.
The number 8 is also 2 to the 3rd power, which brings me to the gift Cindy left for me...Tracy & Tanya. These friendships that began before she left the planet, solidified 8 years ago when we finally met in person, and have kept me hopeful that women like these exist (and that I may even BE one).
And none of this contemplation could happen without the solidity of my partnership with Tim, how easy it is to take for granted what we have!
As I witness my other VIP, Kim endure a major crisis, I am reminded again and again of the holiness in the mundane. Simple acts of making coffee, eating dinner with family, enjoying a movie are all gifts we can cherish in the present.

Legacy

Yesterday marked the anniversary of my mom's exit from this mortal coil. She's often in my heart this time of year not only because of the anniversary, but because she loved Easter. With new life on its way (I'm going to be a grandma!) I've been thinking about how life appears without always having ideal conditions. I find it so fascinating how this blood that flows through me is the same that flowed through my ancestors. So many of our behaviors and tendencies are carried down through the generations, and yet we're seeing so much evidence of the brain's pliability there is hope we can break cycles we don't like in ourselves. For instance, I inherited my mom's way of putting things bluntly. I've noticed through the years, that when I'm on the receiving end of said bluntness, it's not pretty. It can be pretty damaging when the receiver is not in a good emotional state. This is a work in progress for me and I'm thankful for the awareness.

I just finished a book called "A General Theory of Love," and while it can be a bit dry, the message is quite hopeful. We really seem to grow into better beings from loving and helping each other! http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35711.A_General_Theory_of_Love

As I start my path of holding space for people to dance, I'm excited to carry the legacy of my mother who often strove to make her community a better place. Her staccato energy, which I definitely inherited, wasn't always nurturing in that typical motherly way. But her tenacity and get-it-done attitude I gladly carry through my life, hopefully for a long time still to come.

unfinished business

This week marks an anniversary of an old hurt, my late friend Gladys would have been celebrating her 50th birthday. I lost her much the same way I lost Cindy, in an accident with her fiancé (Lovell was also killed), and on Thanksgiving (C & B passed the Sunday after). It's ancient history, happened in 1986 when I was the tender age of 20, she was only 22.

Shortly after the accident, I'd have dreams about her wherein she'd survived and I was so relieved. It took a couple years with an expert therapist to work through that pain. What strikes me now is how the pain of losing a loved one can persist throughout a lifetime. I don't mean being stuck in a state of grief, just the dull ache of absence. The ache of not knowing the evolution of her life, and of course how our friendship would ebb and flow over the years. Sometimes simply witnessing someone's friendship that has the kind of history Gladys and I had can be a bittersweet tug at my heart. Would we have overcome life's obstacles to longterm friendship that so many others have not survived? Deep in my heart, I know we would have. We shared such a sacred trust that even our teenage bickering often turned into laughter. We were simpatico.

When I catch myself waxing nostalgic, I ask how this is present in my life today. What I never connected was my own rage at irresponsible drivers. I've always disliked this about myself, my rule-enforcing persona who stands in judgement of every inconsiderate/obstinate driver I have the displeasure of encountering.

This anniversary activated a need in me to discover what really happened to Gladys and Lovell that tragic night, all I knew up until a few days ago about the driver of the other vehicle was hearsay. Seeing it in black and white (one really can find anything on the internet) was such an incredible catharsis for my incongruous road rage.

The driver was high on PCP being chased by a sheriff, going about 80mph. He narrowly missed a female pedestrian with her two children and a block later, exploded into my friends' car. This was his third DUI offense, the first two occurring 7 months and 18 months prior to the incident. He was sentenced to 2 terms of 15 to 'life' and actually served 24 years in prison, longer than Gladys had been on the planet.

I think about the many stupid decisions I've made in my life, behind the wheel and otherwise. The disregard I've had for sacred life, the carelessness, the thoughtlessness. I'm not that different from the people of whom I stand in judgement on the road, at least my younger self is not. Now I am a pretty conscious driver, and honestly, I can only credit my life experience more than my "inner goodness."

I stand in awe of the many facets of ourselves, the road to self-discovery is so key to better treatment of our fellow man/woman. Consciousness is a gift for which I am ever-grateful. Maybe next time someone cuts me off, I won't yell so loudly. That's something Gladys (and Cindy) would be proud of.

ensemble

image fr Moxycreative.com

I have experienced some loss of late and that always makes me want to blog. The end of a tight-knit cast, Bernie's epilepsy diagnosis (he's my little one-eyed dog), and the loss of my kitty Squeaky were all within the last couple weeks. When I feel blue, I like to blog, so if one didn't know me in real life, one might get a different impression of me. I guess it's my strange and masochistic way of processing, and it works. The list may inspire an eye-roll from someone going through a tragic time, and my response is that it's the feelings underneath that matter. Processing difficult emotions can be easier when it's a smaller scale event.
Saying goodbye to friends I've made during the run of a play activates that part of me who has said goodbye to so many friends. Whether it's through a death, a move, a lifestyle change or simply just growing apart, that grief is quite painful. The teary eyes, the tightness in my throat, the sinking in my stomach are all very familiar. It seems the more closeness and camaraderie I've felt, the heavier my heart weighs. The ensemble of "You Can't Take It With You" reflected the message of the play. The spirit of generosity, acceptance, and "getting" the big picture were all part of our relationship dynamic on stage and off. It's quite a beautiful thing to be a part of. I've been lucky enough to have similar dynamics of friends and coworkers in my life, past and present. The hard part for me is when change comes. And it always does.
Bernie's two major seizures and consequent diagnostic testing were a not-so-gentle reminder of his sweet fragility. When we first got him, he had a broken leg from simply rolling off the couch in his sleep. He's one of those Murphy's Law animals, if it's going to happen, it's going to happen to little "Butters." The money spent on ruling out scary things like brain tumors and spinal meningitis was worth it. I guess it's unusual for epilepsy to show up so late in life--he's nine. While we were shuffling off to various vets and juggling credit cards, Squeaky, our 19 year old Maine Coon cat decided it was her time to leave the planet.
When I started giving Squeaky medicine for her various ailments last year, I asked her to let me know when she was done. She adopted Tim and me when we were young newlyweds, and worked her way into the hearts of Binkie and Bongo (our first kitties) similar to the way Mani has with Rocco and Bernie. She never fought with another cat and seemed to play the role of ambassador to neighbor's cats and ours. Cubby Bear, the last of our cats, is acting strangely this week--seeming to feel the loss of her companion.
I really enjoy being part of an ensemble (one definition is "a group producing a single effect"), which explains my theatre and dance involvement, my pack of animals. I love playing cheer leader to my friends, getting checks when I'm not balanced, learning to be more gentle in my administering admonitions. The more energy we give something the more attachment we have to it, and it's that connection that's so beautiful and so painful to lose. The truth is, it's never lost. When we touch each other's lives, that kinship lives on in the person we become because of the rich relationships we've been lucky enough to have experienced. You remain with me, even now. Thank you.

creativity

Whenever I find myself in a theatrical production, whether it’s acting or wig styling, I contemplate the creative process. I’m often aware of my creativity when I’m styling hair or dancing 5Rhythms, but when I’m with a cast of other creative beings, the energy is captivating. 

I’m curious about the process and how it manifests differently with different people.  Like with most things, the universality exists and that’s what I enjoy focusing on. I stumbled upon Wallas’ model of the four stages of creation and found them similar to the dance process I experience. Here’s how it applies to the acting process. 

Immersion or Preparation requires reading the script, researching context and definitions, becoming familiar with the world of the play. Incubation happens when I’m memorizing lines. I’m done with the analysis and haven’t begun interpreting the words, I simply get them in my head. Illumination occurs when the words are automatic and I can personalize what I’m saying. As one of my acting teachers used to say, we cannot make it our own until the words are flowing off the tongue. That’s when the “a-ha” moments happen.  It’s a beautiful thing to behold with fellow cast members, eclipsed only by my own flash of discovery. We seek Verification from the director, and ultimately from the audience. Is the voice of the playwright coming through? Is the director’s interpretation clear? Did the audience laugh, cry, or connect in some way?

Compassion, patience, trust, playfulness, and focus on our own part feed creativity and establish a safe environment for others to be creative. What kills it is pride, criticism, laziness, jealousy and finger-pointing. In such a busy world, tapping into our creativity can feel like a luxury. I believe it is a necessity to engage our lives with what makes us passionate. It certainly doesn’t have to be “art,” simply what gives us energy. It is our offering to the world.

timing

I don't know what made me grab my phone & headset when I left for my dog walk this morning. I'm not sure why I chose an alternate route that I don't often take. As I was coming into the last quarter mile of our walk, I noticed a wailing woman sitting on the curb with a shirtless young man who's holding his t-shirt tightly to her head. When I asked if he needed help he sighed a grateful "yes." He was able to contact her daughter yet there seemed to be hesitation in calling paramedics. Cost maybe? He was simply a helpful passer-by, didn't know her, just knew she was in pain and bleeding.
Had my timing been different, someone else would surely have come to their aid, and yet I'm glad I had the privilege of playing a small part. I pray that the woman has a speedy recovery, and especially peace of mind for her worried daughter.
I'm amazed how reluctant I can be to get involved, help out, be a part of the community. And yet the rewards are there, I'm pulled out of my self-created worry. Funny, even the dogs mirrored my resolve to stay calm and be of comfort. Their usual pulling, sniffing and scattered energy turned into patience and focus, despite the commotion of the fire truck and paramedics.

I'm thankful for the times I've been in need, distressed or hurt and someone took time to help. I really wouldn't be here without them.

Toronto

I recently visited my late friend Cindy's family in her hometown near Toronto. I've been wanting to visit them, see where she spent her childhood since I lost her (and even before). So when a dance friend from that area told me she was hosting a 5Rhythms workshop on Light and Shadow, it was too poetic to pass up. I often felt like Shadow to Cindy's Light, often teased her that she uses her powers for Good not Evil. I planned this trip when I was in a good frame of mind, and by the time it came to leaving, a shadow was upon me and I didn't want to go.
Self-doubt had crept its way in, I wasn't sure if I would bring up the grief her loved ones had tried to get through.Two weeks before  I left, I dreamt I was asking her if I should go. She reassured me and simply said, "give them my love."
My time with her family was full of tears and laughter and I had an overwhelming feeling of her presence, of being healed and nurtured. I was humbled by the generous hospitality and openness with which I was met. That same spirit that nurtured a friendship so long ago.
While dancing with 100+ dancers and a teacher who has had her share of loss, I was able to identify the current shadow in which I find myself, inertia. Everything feels heavy, full of effort. It's not an energy I'm comfortable with, so getting in touch with it brought some relief.
While in the city, I was fortunate enough to be welcomed into another friend's parents' home. They live on Ward's Island in an art-filled, soul-feeding oasis. They are movers and shakers in their community and told me of the way they use theatre to open people up to new ideas and more responsible living. I came home so inspired, I registered for a carpool on http://www.octa.net and applied to a local college to take a creative writing class. Could I write a play that would honor the impact of Cindy in my life?
The heaviness is starting to lift, another cycle shifting its way in. I'm grateful for the flow.