Tag Archives: dance

base

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My oldest nephew has reminded me about “base”.  Nothing can get you at “base”.  Base is perhaps the most important thing.  And I’m really glad that in play, kids have something to run to where all of the scariness stops and they are control.  When they are on base, they stop the world and process the chase, the overstimulation of the craziness and then when its time to go again they re-enter the game.

The sufferer of ptsd (I’m trying not to capitalize it, I think that’s great advice.  Thanks, A!) frequently feels chased.  I’ve got a thing or twelve on my emotional plate right now.  I have about 4 family relationships I am working on right now.  We still don’t have our stuff from the pirates and that is winding down, I hope we may have our stuff by Christmas.  My new job is great and not easy.

E and I continually work to connect to be “base”.  It is so good.  It’s really hard right now.  The pirates have our bed.  This weekend in a hotel was the first time we’ve slept together in a bed since 9/25.  And we are working so hard to keep our emotional connection sweet.  I’m really lucky, because the air mattresses and other sleeping arrangements have led us both to a lot of back pain through this ordeal and it’s not getting us down.  We’re just taking care of each other.

After a really hard week, A texts me….  She simply says, “I bet you look beautiful and your hair smells like strawberries”.   I laugh because she was close, 3000 miles away and my hair smelled like pumpkins.  My best friend is the master of sweet understatement, she can say better in 9 words what I was trying to tell you in 1,200.  And she smells like caramel, but she doesn’t have to put stuff in her hair to create a scent like I do.  A is “base”.  A is bass to my melody.

I am “base”.  I keep the motion and the flow in my life.  I swim the channel of shadows toward the light.  I love and forgive and connect and sting when I harm people and get pissed off when I have to do the right things and it’s hard.  I try to stop when I can’t and I try to go when I should.  And I learn from my little wild guru nephew about base and safe and stop.

way back machine

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The setting:  I am 11 and I had a rash or something on my thigh.  Our pastor wanted to look at it because he had medical training and it probably didn’t need a doctor’s visit.  I am in the pastors big leather chair wearing a shirt and my underwear and a towel over my underwear.

Pastor: OK, let’s see the rash

(I show him and am careful to keep as much as possible covered because it’s at the top of my inner thigh.  I am really scared.)

Pastor: Hmmmmm.  It doesn’t look too bad.  Is it itchy?

Little Feisty: yeah.

Pastor: WHAT?

Little Feisty: Yes.  Sorry, Sir. Yes.

Pastor: It’s probably from your tights and dancing.  Do you wash them?

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: Are you clean down there?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Show me how you wipe after you go to the bathroom.

Little Feisty: um….

Pastor: You can show me over the towel.

(I pantomime for him, and it feels awful)

Pastor: OK good, that shouldn’t cause a rash.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: You might need to dance without tights for a while and I’ll have your mom sit you in an oatmeal bath.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: We need to have a talk.

Little Feisty: About what?

Pastor: Well, you’re in the older school with the older kids.

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: And you’re the youngest.

Little Feisty: yes (I was very self conscious about being in my underwear and a towel)

Pastor: Do you like any of the boys?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Do you think any of them are handsome?

Little Feisty: (I was silent for a long time, because I had two crushes and I was not sure where this was headed, but I had to come clean once I was asked) yes

Pastor: who?

Little Feisty:   J & B

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: What do you mean?

Pastor: What does it feel like when you are around them?

Little Feisty: I feel happy.

Pastor: What else?

Little Feisty: um…

Pastor: Do you feel it physically?

Little Feisty: I guess?

Pastor: where?

Little Feisty: um…. well (and I started to cry) I feel something in my vagina a little bit.

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: A little warm and tingly.

Pastor: And do you masturbate and think about them?

Little Feisty: NO

Pastor: you don’t?

Little Feisty: no

Pastor: You need to be very careful, you are growing up.  And getting toward a dangerous age.  Masturbation is a terrible sin.

Little Feisty: I don’t do it.  I know it’s a sin and I never have.

Pastor: I’m going to go talk to your mom, put on your pants.

Little Feisty:  ok

Then we went home.

how can it be this good

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Every touch.  Every kiss.  Every hug.  Every look.  Every time we cook and dance in the kitchen.  Every time we talk and come to resolution.  Every time we watch a movie and turn our bodies into snuggled up pretzels.  Every time we wrestle.  Every time we go for a walk and hold hands by the lake.  Every time we dance in the grocery store aisle because we like the song and sometimes you gotta break it down next to the hummus.  Shamelessly in love.  I sure didn’t know love could go this far or feel this good.  I sure didn’t know that it could make me feel this mighty.  I sure didn’t know that love could make me feel safe enough to look into me and know that no matter what it’ll be ok.  He makes me want to do things I’ve never done before: listen and compromise.  This is a crazy new world, my friends.

A tiger is a tiger not a lamb

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When choreographing, just like any art form people can tell when it’s not from the heart. I was so used to working with women. That was at a time when I was really connecting with women. It was hard for me to be in a heartspace or open to the sensuality or the sexuality of men.

So, when drawn to the idea of choreographing a male version of “Mein Herr” from Cabaret, I was thinking drag and camp. When I called the dancers and asked them, they were mostly in. But if they were going to dance the dance, they didn’t want to clown around. They wanted to bring the heat.

You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr.
A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb. Mein Herr.
You’ll never turn the vinegar to jam, Mein Herr.
So I do…
What I do…
When I’m through…
Then I’m through…
And I’m through…
Toodle-oo!

Three gorgeous guys, trusting me to get over my fear and sexism and give them moves from my heart that would make them look amazing and seduce an audience. I was expecting that they would lip-sync, but they surprised me again when they wanted to and could sing.

Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair,
But now it’s over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You’re better off without me,
Mein Herr.

When a move didn’t work, it was a great collaborative effort. Just like so many things in my life, work like hell to create a framework and then stand back and let the magic happen. The problems come from controlling, fearing and not trusting in the inspiration that flows. And when you’ve got three guys writhing in unison in black on chairs that’s a form of inspiration.

Don’t dab your eye, mein Herr,
Or wonder why, Mein Herr.
I’ve always told you I was a rover.
You mustn’t knit your brow,
You should have known by now
You’d every cause to doubt me,
Mein, Herr.

The one on the left always had a sexy smolder in every movement. He could hold any position and would stick at a step until he knew he had it nailed. The one in the middle had the drama, his muscular shoulder would always hit that roll like it was the perfect punctuation. The one on the right was like engagingly aloof, undulating clockwork, and there was something in his eyes that made you want to be in on his inside joke. Each so uniquely perfect. The audience went wild. This dance and the feelings of healing and freedom of this artistic process remain with me and I hope always will.

The continent of Europe is so wide, Mein Herr.
Not only up and down, but side to side, Mein Herr.
I couldn’t ever cross it if I tried,
Mein Herr.
So I do..
What I can…
Inch by inch…
Step by step…
Mile by mile…
Man by man.

Sometimes, a song will haunt me. I will play it over and over again. It needs to come out. But I don’t have dancers or a venue to express it. I love to choreograph, and need to figure out how to express that in my life

Bye-Bye, Mein Lieber Herr.
Farewell, mein Lieber Herr.
It was a fine affair,
But now it’s over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You’re better off without me,
Mein Herr.

I have two songs in my brain, clanging around right now. But this memory of this dance has been banging around, I don’t know why it is. Maybe it needs to be written about.

possession is 9 points of the problem

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I haven’t actually talked about spiritual stuff here in a while.  So, let’s get weird.  I don’t remember how old I was when I was baptized with the holy spirit.  The bible says that some are gifted with tongues, but everyone in our church got that gift.

I remember, everyone praying and anointing me and the gift being given.  I remember trying to speak in tongues.  Being told that it’s ok if it comes out slow, if I only get one word in the beginning.  I felt immense fear and pressure, because I wanted to get it right.  What if the devil was going to speak through me?  I was scared, because I’d already had several exorcisms deliverances by the time I was baptized by the holy spirit.

I uttered a mumbled jumble of a word, and to my relief people around me rejoiced.  I was told to repeat it and repeat it.  Then I got another word and then another word.  On our winter retreats when we fasted for three days, it got easier because we were more trance-like.   Eventually I would get the feeling of being taken over, and I really loved it.

About three years ago, I saw a spiritual leader because I was feeling very confused about my life and she looked at/in/through me and said that I had no spiritual boundaries.  And that was probably one of the reasons that when I drank I drank too much because I love the feeling of being taken over.

Which of course leads me to Greek mythology.  You see the maenads, were worshipers of Dionysus.  And the maenads embody the wild, dancing intoxication.  The fully giving over of one’s self to the trance like power.  The spiritual leader told me that I needed to start learning how to basically stop leaving myself wide open to  possessing wild women who have no regard for me and leave me scratched, bruised, remorseful and sad the next day.

Dionysus, being the Greek god of wine, is also the god of madness.  The greater and the lesser madness.  He created wine for the greeks enjoyment but if they over indulge and have too much, they will be taken over by the greater madness and the maenads will get all flesh rippy and cannibalistic and generally gross.

He is not the obese overindulgent Bacchus of the Romans.  Dionysus wants balance, he wants you to find your joy and your lesser madness, so that you don’t get lost into the greater madness.

So, right now in my journey of sobriety I am weatherproofing this thing.  I was opened up for channeling as a child and it still happens sometimes.  It’s like having a cat door in your soul and a raccoon gets in, kinda.

I just want to make sure that I’m the only one in here making decisions.  I’m sure, this post makes me sound insane.  But, well, my life has been fricking weird.

weight loss photos

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I hate the pre weight loss pictures.  They are unflattering.  Horrible poses.  Terrible lighting.   No personality.  Some people can be overweight and happy.  Dress in ways that are flattering or at least not boring and have fun.  This country equates fat with unlovable.

The post weight loss pictures always have a make over, better clothes, better lighting.  Whatever.

I call bullshit.  You are lovable if you goldang say so.  If you can love others.

So, here are some of my before photos.  But what is brewing in my head, is something different.  I think since I want to incorporate my love of dance and movement.  I think I want to post occasional videos of me moving and dancing.  Because I think it’s important to see attitude, spirit, soul.  And I’ve had that even when I was at my biggest at 265.

 

Age 14, weigh unknown - was a dance teacher and dancing competitively

Age 14, weigh unknown - was a dance teacher and dancing competitively

 

35th Birthday, about to get my present

35th Birthday, about to get my present

 

35, New Years

35, New Years

 

 

 

Weight as of this AM:  215

post injury report

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I’ve been doing what the chiropractor says and am feeling so much better. I am getting my stamina back. I can be on my feet now for a while without pain. I have caught myself dancing in the kitchen so I know I am definitely on the mend.

I can not stretch and walk without pain and am looking forward to hitting the gym again. I know I’ve gained some weight back. All of this bedriddenness and the discovery of chocolate croissant bread pudding hasn’t been the best.

But, it’s all good. I have no permanent damage. The gym is doing right by me and I’m going to get this beat.

Some physical would really help me right now because my emotional health has been in wonky-town. You see, with three major personal events all happening for me on April 1, I have been tensing up, gearing up and spinning out. I have been gathering support.

But I think I need to relax, release and celebrate the journey. And I think I know just how to do this. I’m just going to have to get my video camera.

5 6 7 8

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The student shall become the teacher shall become the student and so on.

We meet at 7:00am.  I haven’t had to admit that there was a 7:00am for years.  This means I wake up at 5:15am, I usually see this from the still awake (insomnia or out having an adventure) end.

He’s bright-eyed, chipper and 12-years younger than I am.  OK schnookums, let’s go.  He’s a good teacher and a great personal trainer.  I am really enjoying going to the Gold’s Gym in Oakland.  I taught tap dance from when I was 14-17, in a dance studio in Fair Oaks, CA.  I loved that place it was my only outlet and my refuge from the church.  My dad and I were connected there, he always showed up and graded his student’s paperwork.  My dance teacher idolized him.

My dance teacher was a hard ass.  She was somewhere between 70 and 300, she always had a matching pastel pant-suit on.  She taught about 7 or more classes a day.  Woe unto you if you chewed bubble gum in her class, her girl’s weren’t cheap.  I got to work out aggression and practice my passion almost every day.  I tried to ignore the adolescent politics and just remained quiet because I was scared of the other kids.  Except my dance partner, N, I adored her.

Your head was filled with the routine, the form, the chatter of the day.  LaVerne would yell 5  6  7  8  and your brain would clear and you would start to dance.  Or you would choke, either way your brain would clear.

LaVerne Krei taught me to teach dance and I was a kinder, gentler hard ass.  I loved teaching, leading a group.  I loved the preparation.  Thinking about where each kid was and how to move them a bit forward each class.  How to choreograph.  I loved serving the kids in that way.  Teaching them to trust me, being trustworthy for them.  Not letting them fall and encouraging them.  Being silly with them while still being an authority.  The fine balance of leadership that I started to learn at 14, in a leotard in tap shoes.  Teaching them to listen for my count.  5  6  7  8

One of the biggest benefits of learning to dance for so long – body mimicry.  Once I see something done I can most likely be at least 80% on my way to repeating it.  I may not have the strength to do it.  If it’s a flip, I’m out of luck.  But learning how to learn is one of the best things I learned.

That serves me now as I am releasing weight and utilizing a personal trainer to help me learn techniques and how to best use the weights and equipment to get me toward my goals.  He counts and I breathe.  I trust him and allow my body to believe it can do what he is asking it to do.  He’s there to catch me if it goes wonky.  5  6  7  8.  OK rest for 30 and give me another set.

I let him count and I do my job.

working out

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So speaking of physical and emotional healing…

I was in dance therapy.

And I was moving, talking and expressing feelings about my divorce.  The motion I did with my hands was a scooping in.  Scoop in.  Heaping in.  Filling me up.  It is was really interesting and my therapist said that I always do that.

When I’m talking – I’m always taking the pain.  Seeing what I can give up to make it easier for you.  As I was dancing, I was practically pulling handfuls of pain out of the air and stuffing them into me.

She challenged me to change my movement.  Can you release?  Can you let go?  Can you take the pain from inside of you and let it out?  Can you not store other people’s pain?  Let’s just start with your arms before you feel it with your heart.

I try just to change an arm movement.  I can’t.  I stand there, literally flopping my arms.  Dance therapy is no joke, it’s hard.  Eventually in slow motion, I work my arms up against my chest and slowly push out.  It doesn’t look good.  One arm slides down the other, like I’m brushing something off.  Then the movement slowly becomes more natural as my shoulders relax and I can remove some of the sad behind my sternum and release it.

Off my legs like old stockings and out of my hair like a man in South Pacific.  I work it out.  I dance it out.

Recently I saw my ex and I didn’t remain sober, didn’t even try.  I was scared to try.  So I didn’t and I don’t know how I feel about that.   I saw so much when I was there.  So much has changed.  So much support is there for here.  I’m so glad, it’s all support she swore wasn’t there for her that I promised was.  So much has changed in the house and I’m glad it needed to.  And there’s a huge part of me that was just mourning.  I could see how so much had happened that I had missed.  And I could see even more how much I had no idea about, and that has to be ok.  I cried a lot.  I passed out.  I told a few people a big secret that I’ve been holding and that was cathartic, I don’t even care if they keep it.  It’s not mine anymore.

I went home early on the train.  Back to E.  Showered and slept.  Had a panic attack.  And then breathed and moved in bed.

Inhaling and using my hands exhaling with hands out of my heart.

Inhaling and exhaling with my hands off my chest.

Inhaling and using my hands exhaling with hands off my arms and legs and feet and hair and back and breathing and breathing until I let go what I had picked up this weekend.  All I have left is this cold.  I’m still sad.

Because I wanted to give her so much.  I never wanted to give her pain.  She never wanted to give me pain either.  Our divorce is final in two months.  Our crazy prop 8 adventure.  We were together for 12 years and legally married for 7 months.   I think it’s going to be a pretty triggery two months as I let go of this part of it.

breathe and move.

The Siren

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The Siren

The Siren

I took a side step on my journey and scaled a cliff, the beautiful cliff of a mountain.  I heard a song that I had always heard and I wanted to know if I could sing it.   The Siren is the daughter of Terpsichore the muse of dance.  But the Siren is hungry for people, and I had always been told that I was hungry like that. 

So I struck a deal with the Siren and the other sirens and we sat for a while.  Some of their sailors , sailed by while we sat and talked.  The Sirens fluffed their feathers and sang and the sailors were helpless and beguiled by their song leaving their lives and possessions on their ships.  The Siren asked me to do her some tasks around the cliff, since I was there and I saw the bones, the gold from past shipwrecks.
Spanish Christian/Pagan Siren-owl-jackal

Spanish Christian/Pagan Siren-owl-jackal

The wine flowed and they sang and danced in celebration of their latest victory which would sate them for a while.  Then they would anxiously wait for the next boat, the next reason to preen their feathers, the next sailors with gold and food and wine.  I would make sure the piles of bones and gore were no longer visable for the new batch.
I’m not a Siren.  Not even related.  I may have known their dad…  Climbing that cliff was very important for me to do.  Some lessons are learned the hard way.  I realized I didn’t belong on that cliff.  You can’t change a Siren from her very nature, she is as she should be and perfect in that.  The world need’s Sirens. 
Ulysses

Ulysses

A boat came around the bend.  A man was bound to the mast.  He could hear their song.  The Sirens were in a frenzy that he didn’t jump ship and come to him for devouring.  While they were trying to coax him.  I jumped on and stowed away.

Odysseus

Odysseus