Creative channels ~ what language does this expression speak?    

At the doorway to a regular dance group last night I recognized a dilemma with implications that stopped me still. It might be more important to write than to dance tonight. 
I shared this with the doorman. He told me that some bring journals. I reflected alone, dancing and writing may both be languages but at this stage of their intimate development I don’t want to mix them. Listen to Spanish and Russian, they both come to life in their own isolation. (Though I’ll say I loved the moment’s image of myself as a fluent old crone who would one day play it all together.)
I danced, for my body, for silence, and I turned a blind eye on my mind full of story. There were moments of immersion but I valued the moments of dissatisfaction more. It was the great dissatisfaction itself that led my unthinking legs up the stairs and my surprised eyes to watch as I pulled the black curtain aside and stepped behind.
The stage was lit to one side. I danced the full space and discovered from across the room that my shadow lived in one corner. We danced together and through wordless stories I learned things about myself I never knew.
The more I indulge life as creativity I can see no option but to be available to insanity for this while, and to in fact allow the languages to mix and make no sense. There is a sanity in the totality, and cultural conventions seem insane. As John Lennon said, ‘The more real you are, the less real the world seems.’

On writing, dancing.. being artfully attentive.    

Let’s talk about writing. It’s a long story hey? But we can’t tell it that way, or we’d wear ourselves out, and get lost along the way.
Writing is like the best lessons in life, simple, honest and like a parabola that begins with the smallest solitary detail, and takes a journey to find itself home again in the heart of the universe. 
Writing begins from a love affair with silence, and in there the voice you’ll hear dances with words.
Writing is a sanctuary that calls the soul back, to slow down thoughts on the darkest of days. It can craft the shadow into clear form; writing is an attention that shines light on space.
Can you trust that your reader is your most intimate companion? Their mystery is your blessing. Your voice addresses your fullest self, it dares to include the parts you never before knew, and the ‘Other’ out there (beautifully beyond your control is their response). It addresses the silence you hear after your words. 
There you will see in the full vulnerability of your expression to the world, there is nothing of yourself to defend, only expression that disappears into the vastness.
You have no purpose but to stay true.

Water Dancing    

The sea has churned grey. We met again today within the tumbling of waves. Swimming was a past-time of the calm lapping summer season but autumn is for playful diving, rolling, and the willingness to be knocked-down, only to be lifted up again by the same conqueror. 
One day I shall run a dance term that begins on the ocean shore. We will lie tuning breath as an offering to the ocean to roll us back and forth, and over and under. We will learn about gravity as the waves throw their natural force to ground, and in their release we’ll feel the soft rising. We’ll take refuge in being carried in all directions with the certainty of spiral force in our rebound. And we’ll discover how we can riff with the ocean’s motion and add our own moving tune, to see the water rush in to support every twist and turn.
There is an old Taoist tale of the man who plays with the force of a powerful waterfall. He is feared dead, seen from high above, beaten by the power of water. When he climbs out relaxed, a wise leader Confucius and his men rush to examine him. He tells them this, 
‘I learned to follow the nature of water. When force drives me down, I know the reverb will lift me up. I anticipate it. I don’t manipulate it, I let it have its way. It is a friend.’
Water dancing lessons for life.

Autumn’s Call    

Today the wind arrived, loudly. ‘I am autumn’ he called, ‘and here I am.’ The cows did not notice, their heads hung low chewing cud in fields still green.
I heard it. Plump from the summer heat I heard the calling to drop like a fig to the ground and prepare for seasons of lying low, roasting before night fires where sunsets once gleamed. 
My solitude loved summer passionately; the long cycling evenings, the wild camping and sea swimming. Even when shared with friends the silent embrace of nature was ours alone. A return to mother’s arms.
Tonight between the woodland path and hills I saw my daily cycle ride slipping away, as I raced the earlying nightfall, listening for summer in the air like a lover that left before I knew. Cycling has become my practice, dawn or dusk, a daily contemplation where pushing pedals turns creativity through my mind, and down the hills a still silence moves fast. 
Three glorious months of sunshine surprise have followed each other, and now for change. It was this time last year I clung to memories of California like a child refusing to take part in the game. But the intimate nature of life in this small town has invited me inwards, into a life where I ask myself questions less with doubt and more with courage. Questions where my edges can grow and life can be met. I used to write these posts alone, happy with creativity for my partner but tonight I complete this as  Adam arrives home to me.
I’m grateful that today I trust to welcome change. I greet and bow down to autumn, with his loud arrival and trust there are rich chapters to come.

Page 10 of 14« First...8910111213...Last »
Workshops Soulmotion Accessories