That thing is happening to my brain:
I walk into the kitchen and I can’t remember why I walked into the kitchen.
I start to give an instruction in class and half way through I can’t remember the instruction I’m giving.
I’m driving and I can’t remember where I’m driving too.
I’ve started saying words wrong, like when my nephew asked me what that body part is called that includes the thigh and the butt:
Class. Photo by Jun Akiyama, 2017
Read Moreknow this is a newsletter about dancing, but there is so much wildlife happening here this summer, I can’t stand it!
1. Hummingbirds in the courtyard.
For the past month we have been watching hummingbird parents fly in and out of the nest they built, to sit on their eggs.
Recently the eggs cracked open and now the parents swoop in every half hour or so to feed the baby birds, whose beaks point straight up into the sky. The babies open up their beaks and urgently reach when the mother or the father fly in to feed.
The nest the hummingbirds built is stunning: there are bits of flower petals — yellow and purple — mixed in with the weeds and the grass.
2. Coyotes howling, wild turkey’s fighting, deer feasting, last summer the sighting of a moose (not this summer though, at least not yet), bunnies hopping, bob cats prowling, foxes darting, ravens roosting,
3. AND my most favorite moment of all (I'm soooooo jealous I missed it):
photo by Glen Kalen, 2017
Read MoreWe’ve been dancing from the pelvic floor these last few weeks in class.
At the end of one such class, when the buzz between everyone was especially high, Agness said, “This strong connection between all of us today…I think it’s being generated from the hum of the pelvic floor.”
We continued to speak about the pelvic floor in more detail, where it’s located and how it’s held in the body.
We spoke about the pelvic bowl, a basket-like structure where the organs, like fruit, sit and hover just above the floor of the pelvis, where there is a hum, isn’t there?
The Anatomy of Improvisation. photo by Jun Akiyama, 2017
Read MoreIn a little dance studio, out in the fields, the last rural outpost within the city limits, down a dirt road, only land, all around, doors and windows thrown open to the prairie and the wind, the sound of meadow larks filling the space, under the radar and far from the mainstream — something is brewing.
The Anatomy of Improvisation. photo by Jun Akiyama, 2017
Read MoreIt’s a fine line between everything and nothing, and I am only at the beginning of understanding this.
I fall off the line daily -- bumbling along, until I climb back up and try again.
For me, everything is:
That’s the balance I'm trying to find on the little line that I am forever walking.
When bodies and breath align, all is possible in this great expanse of space and time.
And nothing is….
photo by Glen Kalen, 2017
Read MoreI am making 2 ginormous assumptions about the 400 or so of you who read this newsletter every week.
1.
I assume that each and every one of you respects, cares about, and is kind to women. True, yes?
2.
I assume that you feel the same way about guns that I do. I have no idea if this is true or not.
I am bringing this up because two things happened on my vacation last week related to these assumptions.
photo by Glen Kalen, 2017
Read MoreLike, everyday?10 minutes, right after you wake up perhaps. Roll out of bed, find your way to the floor. Notice your breath, see what arises and follow the thread, first thing in the morning. Two students of mine have been doing this for awhile now. They made a pact with each other — a simple nod when they see each other in class -- "I'm dancing every morning...you?" What’s happened is that they are able to “drop-in” more quickly, with more depth, and for longer periods of time.
The work I am embarking on in class, and in my performance work...it's elusive. It’s easy to wonder what the f**ck is going on when attention is not being paid to breath and sensation...when trust has not been formed in connection to oneself. It’s a slippery slope, and it’s easy to fall off if awareness to the moment is not being held with respect. So try dancing more to understand and trust that slope more fully. 10 minutes every morning. Ask a friend to join you. Give a simple nod indicating yes, I danced a little more this week. Sure, take the weekends off, that’s a good idea. And then start again on Monday. See what happens when you give yourself permission to dance every single day. Let me know how it goes by telling me about it here.
The poem below is from a writing exercise we did in class one Friday.
It's by Helen Turner, who dances, every single day:
What is this place, these 3 hours on a Friday morning?
Is this dance?
When is this dance?
When does this become dance?
Does this become dance?
My thoughts are pushing into my bones, through my muscles. They want to be included. Usually I wait for you to quieten down, fade into the sound scape, hangout with the train and the meadowlark, the sound of children’s voices.
I bake in the sun, half in and half out of the French doors. Skin and sun, the hairs on my skin, thinking, the sun on my eyelids making my mouth tilt upwards, thinking.
Let us make a space for everything.
An empty internal canvas dotted with the color of words, a stroke of magenta, now orange.
From the bones the thoughts move, tasting each bone. Is there greeting? There is greeting.
I want to kneel on just the one knee, like she does. My arms come together over the knee and suddenly I am here, right here, right now, and Jo says “5 more minutes”, and I think “Oh dear, I just arrived”. But then I think, “that’s what we have”, and I’m in the dance, a bit wobbly but staying with it and I’m here and gone and then there is another 5 minutes. So here we all are. It is enough.
And then, I find the birds and I know now why I showed up this morning.
With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
PS:
1. SUMMER DANCE CLASSES:
The summer session starts on Tuesday, June 6th and runs through Thursday, August 31st...will I see you there?
“I was deciding between seeing the Dali Lama and coming to class today…I choose class.” – Simone. “Me too!!” — Suzzy.
"I feel free." -- Linda Stonerock, Current Student of 13 years
"I can find someone else’s breath in the room when I cannot locate my own.” — Helen Turner, current student of 12 years
"I walk in the world differently because of this class." -- Nancy Ruff, Current Student of 4 months
"I am going to do this for the rest of my life.” — Liza Patrick, Current student of three years
Click here for more info about the summer dance session.
2. DOG DANCE, Performance and Workshop:
Performance: This Friday, May 19th, 7pm at Floorspace, $10.
Workshop: This Saturday, May 20th, 1-4pm, Boulder Circus Center $69 (includes ticket to performance on Friday night). There is only one spot left in this workshop. Let me know ASAP if you are interested in attending.
“Joanna creates earthquakes. She re-aligns the universe.” — Julie Rothschild, Owner of Julie Rothschild Movement
“The generosity of Dog Dance is invaluable." Audience member at February's performance
"Stunning. Just Stunning." -- Freddi Acora, Audience member at Current Student.
“Thank you for holding the space in which I could unfold…safely, quietly, loudly, in my own time.” –– Margaret Harris, student for 11 years before moving to Jackson Hole, Wyoming!
"(The workshop) was wonderful. I couldn't say why... because it is just too potent for me. I'm not sure I have words for it still, but they are coming....been dog dancing every day since... so rich." -- Abi Averitt, participant in Learning Dog Dance and Audience Member
“I was SO craving class after your STUNNING performance of Dog Dance last night” — Simone Key, current student of five years, participant in Learning Dog Dance, and audience member.
"Wonder. I've been thinking about wonder." -- Helen Turner, student and repeat audience member at Dog Dance.
Click here for more info about Dog Dance.
My mom started taking a cocktail of medications for nerve pain in her lower back a few months ago. Because of the mix of meds she's on, she's hallucinating now and then.
She’s clear and bright eyed when she re-counts her latest sighting:
~ Looking out her window -- where big machines are moving around all day building new houses as fast as they can -- she sees a field of wild horses, running.
~ An old friend appears at the foot of her bed one morning, and they talk for hours about their lives, revealing secrets to each other that have never been spoken before.
~ She says I was there one night, and that I turned myself inside out.
~ She tells my nephew about the person living in the ceiling…she can’t recall much about him, except that his name starts with a T.
~ Friends from work, junior high, and college, visit regularly.
~ Family members, dead and alive, come over for a picnic.
~ Pets form our childhood return, and she sets out a bowl of water for them.
I taught a dance workshop for the Leadership Fellows at The Boulder Chamber of Commerce a few weeks ago. At the end of our time together, one of the women said:
“The negative space…that’s where all the potential is, isn't it? That’s where possibility thrives.”
My mother’s hallucinations = possibility in the in-between.
And Merce Cunningham said:
"Light or luminosity is created by the way elements are juxtaposed. They become reflective and a radiance comes from putting different things together."
Juxtaposing images and memories, my mother talks to the ghosts, and she is radiant.
Your dance mission for the week is to notice your breath, right now and throughout the day, to feel the floor beneath your feet, right now and throughout the day, while looking for the legs.
Find your own legs, right now. Feel them, sense them, breath into the bones of them.
Step away from your computer for 3 minutes, and dance, letting your legs lead the way.
With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
PS:
1. SUMMER DANCE CLASSES:
The summer session starts on Tuesday, June 6th and runs through Thursday, August 31st...will I see you there?
"I feel free." -- Linda Stonerock, Current Student of 13 years
"I walk in the world differently because of this class." -- Nancy Ruff, Current Student of 4 months
“It’s always awesome, but today was extra awesome.” — Lucy Braham, Current Student of two years
"I love what you said yesterday about not taking it for granted, this incredible richness of dancing on a Tuesday morning. I'm counting my blessings right now and dancing with you twice a week is way way way up there in my cup." -- Aileen Hayden, Current Student 3 years
2. DOG DANCE, Performance and Workshop:
Performance: Friday, May 19th, 7pm at Floorspace, $10.
Workshop: Saturday, May 20th, 1-4pm, Boulder Circus Center $69 (includes ticket to performance on Friday night). There is limited space in this workshop. so if you are interested in attending, let me know ASAP so I can hold a spot for you.
“The generosity of Dog Dance is invaluable." Audience member at February's performance
"Stunning. Just Stunning." -- Freddi Acora, Audience member at Current Student.
"(The workshop) was wonderful. I couldn't say why... because it is just too potent for me. I'm not sure I have words for it still, but they are coming....been dog dancing every day since... so rich." -- Abi Averitt, participant in Learning Dog Dance and Audience Member
“I was SO craving class after your STUNNING performance of Dog Dance last night” — Simone Key, current student of five years, participant in Learning Dog Dance, and audience member.
xoxo
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“To be astonished is one of the surest ways of not growing old too quickly.”— Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette
Immediately after reading this, I received an email from Johannah discussing her experience in class this past Friday.
Johannah has been taking class with me since I started teaching in 2003, and the Friday class has been a struggle for her at times: I don’t always use music, there is very little instruction, and sometimes there is a minimal amount of big muscle movement (i.e.. leaping, jumping, locomoting, spinning, swooping).
A question that continually comes up for Johannah about this particular class is, “Is this really dance?”
Johannah has been dancing since she was little, studying and teaching modern dance, so the work we are doing is disconcerting sometimes -- I get that, and I ask the same thing myself now and again.
What I love about her question -- “Is this really dancing?” -- is that at 84, Johannah is still asking questions, still wondering about it all, and still curious.
Anyway…her email:
I emailed first and said something like, “How did it feel to dance with no music and little instruction?”
She replied:
“Joanna-
The bottom line is it was fine! great even! The longer narrative is something has happened that I am almost afraid to name. It is like I am exploring my body from a new place. I am interested and curious about what it can/ is willing/ is able/ wants to do. Even Andrea said something about deconstruction and rebuilding. The angst is gone; the conflict over “is this dance” is gone, the self consciousness seems to be largely gone. I could even see how the music can get in the way. I did love this Friday: Sometimes listening/being aware of the outside sounds; the birds, the truck going by, the airplane not dropping bombs on us. Sensing the bodies around me. And I still enjoy music, and hope there will sometimes be some. but this Friday I did not miss it. It is like, oh my, what was all the angst and fuss about? It is like meeting someone new and tiptoeing a bit to make sure the relationship is on sound footing…..so I haven’t said it “out loud” or tried to name it. Right now it is enough to enjoy the exploration and be so grateful I am not railing against new restrictions. They are more than compensated for by the pleasure of the exploration,,,,,Will wonders never cease?
Much love, J.”
This state that Johannah is describing will change and bump into itself.
You know that, and I know that.
That's why there's a little bit of fear I think, about naming it.
But the possibility of entering in, as Johannah did on Friday — it’s there now, and always will be, even if it's a long time before it happens again. She held it and then let it go.
Placed it in the palm of her hand and blew it away.
Named and saw herself within this circle that is us — human beings inhabiting a body, inhabiting an earth.
That’s it that’s it that’s it.
I think of Johannah — her wonder and delight at 84.
In the midst of all the clamor and expectation of living, thinking of her makes me want to turn off the computer and dance. You in?
Oh good.
Let's turn off the computer -- right now -- for 10 minutes, lie down on the floor and notice what we hear, sense, and perceive.
Let's let ourselves fall into whatever dance is waiting to take us, and then float us, down the river.
10 minutes...only 10 minutes and then you can turn your computer back on.
Let me know how it goes.
With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
What happens when you dance ?When you are in motion, what do you feel, sense, perceive?
What about stillness?
What about the in-between?
Just yesterday I was dancing with my class and a new pattern emerged.
I felt the thrill of new and old laying ground.
As I sat on the sidelines later on to watch, long moments of fullness and ease moved in, and stayed for awhile.
I felt, sensed, and percieved awe.
When you dance…do you feel stirred?
Why?
How so?
What is happening with the systems that are inside of you, and also, outside of you?
Do you ever wonder why we all are not dancing, every single day, for most of the day?
Or is that just me — because I wonder about that a lot.
I know that dancing isn’t for everyone.
We all follow our own path and one path doesn’t fit all.
I know.
But sometimes, I wish, that just once, we all could take a day off -- together -- to notice what parts of the body are in contact with the earth...to hone in on the detail of that.
To move into and engage in a dance that is waiting -- patiently -- for all of us to step into and be swept away by the thrill and awe of dancing.
Floating, burrowing, excavating, carving, resting, and flying in shape, form, time, and energy.
Ah dancing…you are on my mind these days!
How about a dance mission since we haven’t done one of those in ages.
Back to basics perhaps?
Find a comfortable place to be — lying down, sitting or standing.
Notice your breath.
Notice your body against the earth.
Notice your body carving into the air that is surrounding you.
On your exhale, see what movement emerges.
On your inhale, find stillness.
Do this over and over again: Move on the exhale and find stillness on they inhale until one bleeds into the other as your movement and your stillness find their way to the surface.
And the dance?
It's already happening.
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I wonder how you are choosing to walk through the world after reading the news or not reading the news.I wonder how you are doing, hearing the first 12 minutes of this, as you hang the laundry.
I wonder and hope that you are going to dance class — because you must continue to go to dance class — even as you hear these first 12 minutes, and want to run, screaming into the streets.
Do run — screaming into the streets — but also:
Go to dance class.
We cannot let him take that away from us.
I wonder how you are moving in the world right now, in this moment in history.
I wonder where, and how, you are finding stillness.
I wonder if you are spinning.
I wonder if you are spiraling.
I wonder if you are sensing your weight — in space — as it shifts and drops, and then rises. It is difficult
to get the news from poems
Yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there
~ William Carlos Williams Katharine sent this me when I said "I don’t have time for poems right now."
I decided, then and there, to make time for poems. I've been thinking about you. I wonder how you've been doing. xo Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
I’m getting ready for Dog Dance. This performance happens on Friday, January 20th, at 7pm at Floorspace, 1510 Zamia Ave, #101 in Boulder.
Dog Dance ends at 8pm that night, so my plan is to head over to the People’s Inaugural Ball at The Boulder Theater right after.
I was practicing for this upcoming performance of Dog Dance in the living room yesterday.
Glen walked in from the shop, saw me lying on the floor, one arm reaching this way, the other arm reaching that way, legs in weird angels, hips up in the air, face smushed into the floor, fast asleep.
He whispered, “This must be the SUPER DOG that is dancing.”
That woke me up. I laughed and laughed.
So see you this Friday, for the Super Dog that is dancing, and then onto the People’s Inaugural Ball, where we will dance our way through this incoming presidential administration, while simultaneously continuing to do the hard and necessary work of creating uplift and possibility for us all.
With Warmth and Vibes — Jivey or otherwise, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
I am. The wind is blowing the house down.
So I’m up,
I’m giddy and unable to sleep because something woke up in me last Wednesday — right after I sent you that last newsletter.
That something has been groggily waking up for a long time now, but last week it got me sitting up straight, eyes wide open.
This thing I asked us to imagine?
It’s taking shape, in a way I couldn’t have imagined, and it’s moving fast.
I promised myself that this newsletter would be dedicated to what it’s always been dedicated to:
I promised myself the new newsletter, the one I am sending out on Mondays, that it would be dedicated to:
But thats misguided.
These things are the same.
They come from the same place and swim in the same body of water.
My longtime friend Kate is visiting.
(She’s sleeping upstairs as we speak).
Last night we stayed up late: Envisioning, Dreaming of, and Wondering about this event I am putting together for January 8th.
After lots of conversation
(and cake.
and wine.
ice cream too),
Kate said:
“You're planning a dance class for January 8th. Sure, it's taking on a different form, with different players. And no, nobody will know it’s a dance class…it won’t even enter their mind. But you’ll know: You'll know that what you all are doing together is dancing."
She's right.
When people leave the event I am getting together for Sunday January 8th, I hope I don’t hear them say:
“Well, good. I know exactly what to do now. I have a plan. Glad that's over and done with.”
I hope what I do hear them say is:
“Hmmmmmm…….we're just at the beginning, aren't we?"
*|FNAME|*, your Dance Mission is to enter into and engage with your experiences and your encounters this week by saying "hmmmmm.....is this a beginning?"
Just for practice.
Let me know how it goes. With Warmth, always, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
Imagine.
What if we all meet — in the middle — to take our shoes off, sit on the floor and roll around for a bit, before beginning the work of dreaming the world we want to walk in.
What if we all meet —at dusk —to watch the moon rise, and to sing a hallelujah.
What if those who gather are artists and politicians, teachers and mail carriers, front desk workers and chiefs of police.
What if those who gather are dishwashers and lawyers, tribal leaders and midwives.
What if you and I and everyone else takes a deep breath, closes our eyes, and dreams.
I can’t help but think of the Defense Council in Starhawk’s book, The Fifth Sacred Thing, which I have mentioned before in this very newsletter.
Do you remember this Defense Council I am speaking of?
This Defense Council made up of all the old ladies who lived in Starhawk’s San Francisco?
They gathered every week to dream, journey, and drop into the deepest part of their collective imagination.
From that place they came up with the solutions and strategies that would ward off outside invaders who were forever threatening their way of life.
Can we do that?
Can we be the ones who imagine and dream a world beyond what we know?
Can we be the ones who catch each other as we fall and surrender into curiosity, inquiry, and delight?
Helga is my new favorite podcast.
It probes and queries into questions of art making.
Art making that includes falling.
Art making that includes surrender.
Art making that includes awakening, imagining, and dreaming.
On this darkest day of the year, have a cup of tea, curl up underneath a warm blanket, and take a listen to this.
“I was deciding between seeing the Dali Lama and coming to class today. I choose class. Me too!!” -- Simone and Suzzy, students who are currently taking class.
4. The next Dog Dance is on Friday, January 20th.
It will be the 9th showing of this work in an on-going series of performances
Come if you can.
It is also a place to imagine:
"Wonder. I'm thinking about wonder." -- Helen Turner, audience member. With Warmth, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
A little boy came home from school and told his mom that his teacher had asked all of the kids in his class to come to school the next day, dressed as the thing they wanted to be when they grew up.
His mother said, “What are you going to dress up as?”
The little boy replied, “A ballerina.”
The mother said, “Boys can’t wear tutus.”
The little boy said, “Oh.”
The next morning the mother told her son and her daughter to get dressed while she made breakfast.
The kids got ready and came into the kitchen.
The girl was dressed and the boy did not have any clothes on.
The mother said to her son, “What in the world is going on? Why aren’t you dressed yet?”
The little boy said, “Today is the day we go to school dressed as what we want to be when we grow up.”
The mother said, “And what would that be?”
The little boy said, “A naked ballerina.”
With that, he lifted his arms over his head and pirouetted, leapt, and pas de bour·réed across the open space.
This story comes from a college classmate of mine -- he was the naked ballerina.
He told this story more than 20 years ago, and I still think about it sometimes.
That call, that yearning, that sense of self that propels us forward with or without a tutu wrapped around our waist.
It’s getting stronger, that call, for all of us, don’t you think?
Since the election, I can hear it in the night. It’s almost like a distant hum or a far away whisper that keeps saying over and over and over again, to all of us here on planet earth:
This dance in the middle, it is about being with the unknown. It’s about staying curious -- about everything. It’s about following the deepest part of your creative self. As that part of your being opens up and out, surfacing from the deep blue sea of you, things begin to fall and then land in new and thrilling configurations, patterns, and orientations.
Dig in.
Spend some time in this place of wonder.
When you do that -- this dance that is in the middle -- it will organically grow and deepen, creating a wide palette of synchronicity and grace that then becomes available to every single one of us .
This then feeds the capacity for listening, understanding, and empathy within the ensemble of this planet we call home.
Be the naked ballerina.
It’s time.
With Warmth on this Cold and Wintery Day, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
PS: 1. TAKING ACTION:
I am currently starting a new email list that will be dedicated to taking strategic action and engaging with prudent organizing in response to this most recent election.
Sign-up here to be added to this email list.
2. It's time to take some FREE DANCE CLASSES:
Tuesday, January 10th And/OR Thursday, January 12th
10:15-12:15pm at The Boulder Circus Center
Email me if your interested in attending one or both of these classes.
3. Dog Dance happens next Friday, December 16th.
1510 Zamia Avenues, #101 7pm $5
xo jo
"You should be breaking through the walls, breaking up the universe trying to find new things for yourself, & develop more deeply those that you have been working on.” — Martha Meyers, Dean Emeritus at The American Dance Festival. This is the dance that is building inside of me:
Working title: Cooking with Roy
Note: My father wanted to name me Roy, if I had been born a boy….can you imagine?
Roy Rotkin?
Oy.
Long Red Nails that are really really long Amy Winehouse Beehive Hair-Do with things stuck in and out of it, like twigs, like birds, like bugs High Heels? Movement from deep inside
Run to me! Run to me!
Arms over head, shoulders to ears Barking/Hoofing Horse prances with that sound Head shaking, body bent a little bit forward while standing still Scooting all of the still and lying down people to the back of the stage and piling them up there
Pick up things and put them in my mouth
A Feminist Contact Improv Duet: Gather everything from the floor and try to hold onto it all
Crawl backward and say ooh ooh ooh like a rescued chimpanzee and then stand still for a very long time.
Slow movement, noticing what is moving in my body and what is still in my body while grunting… but the grunting happens very rarely…it is more like a throaty moan. A dog house A Hazmat suit A Bert puppet and an Ernie puppet, talking earnestly about something precious Mouth on ground, butt up in the air, legs walking, arms to the side….building
Sniff the air Slow and low down movement on a doctors table Folding and unfolding with a hunched over back Ice age sound while doing something hard
Folding chairs filling the stage or being moved off the stage or being carried the whole time on the stage A trench coat
Spoons
That's my dance, the one in my head.
It's a dance that may never be made.
Or seen.
Or realized.
Or it may.
I don't know yet.
What about you?
What's the dance that is building and burning inside of you?
Tell me about it here.
With Warmth and Jivey Vibes, Joanna of Joanna and The Agitators sweetly agitating/persistently upending www.joannaandtheagitators.com
We must continue to gather.
We must continue to practice and make time for what we value in our lives.
We must continue to meet each other.
We must continue to stand for one another.
We must continue to dream.
We must continue to show up, in the light.
We must continue to be bold.
We must continue to love.
We must continue to gather.
It is after midnight here in Colorado.
I promised myself I would sleep tonight, that I would turn off the computer and the phone, that I would stop watching the news, and that I would sleep.
But that is not what is happening.
I am wide awake and I am moving back and forth between my phone and my Facebook feed, between the NYTimes and FiveThirtyEight, and I cannot stop crying.
No matter how many deep breaths I take, or how many walks outside for a peek at the moon and the stars in the silence of this night up here on the hill, I cannot stop crying.
Except when I think about you.
When I think about you Joanna, and when I think about what I am going to say to you in the morning after this election, I stop crying and I start remembering that we are artists, you and I, and as artists we vision and we dream.
We break down the rules to find out what is underneath.
And we do that by gathering together to cry, to dance, to laugh, to share a meal, and to gaze at the moon.
We have no idea what will happen in the next few days or months.
We have no idea how things will unfold and play out.
We have no idea what is going to be called for as we meet what comes next.
So we must gather.
We must cast our spells.
We must continue to grow into ourselves and this world with presence, courage and love.
We must continue to stand with, and for each other with presence, courage and love.
We must meet whatever it is we are called to meet with presence, courage and love. Many of you have inquired and asked about the family emergency I mentioned a few weeks ago.
The update is that we are still in the throes of the emergency, though it has quieted a bit.
The actual “emergency” and the details of it are not mine to tell, so I won’t go into it here, but the results of this election have made it that much harder.
I am moving through it with less grace than I had hoped for, but I am still moving.
Thank you for your kind words and your well wishes.
I know that you too have been through a family emergency at some point, and that you may be going through a crisis yourself, right now, as you read this newsletter the day after the election.
You too are walking through the fire.
That in itself is the beginning of the gathering.
With love, in the early morning hours after the election. Joanna
This appeared in my inbox a few weeks back:
http://jewishliteraryjournal.com/creative-non-fiction/high-fall-risk/
It’s by Paulette Fire, who has been taking class with me for a few years.
The beginnings of Paulette’s work came out of a bit of writing we did in class.
It’s worth a read, and then another.
I’m going to leave it there because it’s enough for today — to read this work, to pause, and then to read it again.
It’s enough for today — to wonder about the path your body takes through space and through time.
It’s enough for you to read this work, to lie down on the floor, to notice your breath, and to take a few minutes, or more, to follow the inevitable unfolding of your body in its fullest expression.
It’s enough to ground you in the moment as nothing else can, so that each generation may pass through, leaving traces of themselves that linger on our skin.
Before I go, I invite you to join me for the next installment of Dog Dance Day Dreams.
It happens this coming Friday, Oct 21st, 7pm, at Floorspace.
Dog Dance Day Dreams is an improvised solo I share with my community the third friday of each month with conceptual/directorial guidance by Andrew Marcus (The Disappearance Project).
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With Warmth,
Joanna
of
Joanna and The Agitators
sweetly agitating/persistently upending
www.joannaandtheagitators.com
Joanna and The Agitators is a platform dedicated to upending the status quo through live dance performance, movement education, and improvisation.
