I don't have a job right now. I work, but I'm not remunerated for it. I work as a physical actor; I am constantly thinking about my craft, and when I'm not in the studio, I visualize the movements, the mindset, the connection with an audience which is only going to be there on the very night of the show. I train my body, and I train my mind, to get to a place of sharp and open observation and concentration. I train my heart, to grow in compassion and heal from the Fall and the illusion that we are irremediably separate. I strive to connect, and love. I am a tantric clown.
Tantra: from the two root words tanoti "stretch, extend, expand", and trayati "liberation". [...] it is a radically positive, world-embracing vision of the whole of reality as an expression of a joyous Divine Consciousness.
But Tantra means being in the world... so as much as I'd like to think I'm doing the work, I'm actually sitting in front of my computer right now, merely writing about it. What's the right amount of pressure to place on one's self? How to let the work emerge (from a place of grace), rather than pushing it ("you should")? This is a dilemma I've been pondering for a good amount of time now.
The thought of doing ShameNoShame! as a street show is very scary. As I understand it, Berliners (and all the tourists that come through Berlin) are supposedly very hard to shock/disturb. Apparently, it wouldn't be a problem to wear my purple fishnets, my tutu, and pink heels on the street for this show. But what if I can't gather a crowd? What if I just end up standing there, in that ridiculous outfit, forever and ever and ever... looking like a fool?
Or isn't that what my job actually is?
Confronting failure and ridicule, for the sake of ... the quantum leap. For the sake of transformation, of creating an opening, of perhaps, in one instance, connecting with other human beings on subjects generally relegated to the taboo...
We'll see. Insha' Allah...
Oh and it reminds me: "ShanaTova!" (I'm in Germany.)
The verbal dance of a Polypassionate. Being & Becoming... Expressing Impressions... Manifesting... worlds of imagination.
About this clown
- Ève
- I often feel that we're all spinning slowly... like a mirror ball. Yes, we are all mirrors to each other. And so, it is the Light between us that I hope to help reveal and celebrate. /// J'ai souvent l'impression que nous sommes une boule disco qui tourne lentement. Nous sommes tous des miroirs pour les uns les autres. C'est donc la lumière qu'il y a entre nous que j'espère contribuer à souligner et à célébrer.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Corps-munication. (FR)
C'est un peu étrange d'en faire le choix: écrire en français!
Et pourquoi pas? Après tout, c'est bien ma langue maternelle! Je peux bien m'y reconnecter plus directement, maintenant que je suis sortie des États-désunis.
Je suis en Allemagne, et je n'y comprends pas grand chose!
Mais ce qui est encore plus étrange, c'est que je ne me souviens pas d'avoir vécu ceci lorsque j'appris l'anglais ou même l'espagnol. Et peut-être lors de mon voyage Brésil? Je ne me souviens pas si le portugais me parût aussi difficile que l'est présentement l'allemand.
Bref, j'ai mal au cerveau. Je viens d'emménager dans un appartement dans l'Est de Berlin, avec sept autres colocs, et je me sens plus isolée que jamais. Je sais que je démontre définitivement de l'impatience, mais c'est comme ça. Je me sentais si... ultra connectée, là-bas, à San Francisco. Ici, j'ai peine à partager ce que je suis et ce que je désire...
On parle anglais, bien sûr. Mais ce serait trop facile.
Nous avons repris le travail lundi. Il est bon de répéter, de se concentrer sur le language physique. Je me dis que j'ai en fait une parfaite opportunité pour observer la gestuelle comme mode de communication et d'incorporer le tout dans mon travail. Je me dis que l'obstacle de la langue me servira certainement à perfectionner mon jeu.
Hier soir j'ai fait la rencontre d'un superbe être humain. Sharon est un clown Israélien, employé dans un petit cirque ici, à Berlin. Il ne fait toutefois pas partie du show ces temps-ci, il m'a expliqué, parce qu'il a des problèmes de santé. Pour être plus juste: il est atteint d'un syndrome post-traumatique, suite à une expérience tragique qu'il a vécu lors de sa conscription avec l'armée Israélienne. Imaginez, un clown au coeur d'or, envoyé au combat en territoire Palestinien... son arme... puis une balle au corps d'une jeune femme.. elle tombe, morte. La scène est troublante pour nous qui ne l'avons même pas vécue. Sharon en fait des cauchemars la nuit. Il souffre.
Mais il est, ne l'oublions pas, bien plus que cela. Ne l'ayant pas encore vu sur scène - ou dans l'arène, je devrais plutôt dire - je sais pourtant déjà qu'il est un clown fabuleux. Il me suffit seulement de l'écouter me parler de ses maîtres: tout à coup ses yeux scintillent, son corps devient souple et... éloquent! Il m'explique les différentes méthodes d'enseignements, les différentes philosophies qu'y lui furent inculquées. Le clown, c'est l'art de ramener l'être à son essence via le corps. Chacun, chaque chose, à un rythme particulier; ''Walking is a secret dance'', raconte Sharon. Il suffit d'observer et d'extraire le vocabulaire que constitue quelconque gestuelle. Ensuite, on compose et on chorégraphe, comme avec la danse. Répétition, tempo, amplification, isolation, là sont les ingrédients (non exclusivement) d'un bon personnage. Le reste, le numéro, suit naturellement. ''It's not about the story or about emotions'' il annonce, ''It's not about the why, it's about how. That's where the funny is, because that's where the essence is.''
J'ai tant à apprendre, à pratiquer, à intégrer. Le corps a une mémoire, il ne s'agit que de l'entraîner. Après cette conversation avec Sharon j'ai de nouveaux outils pour améliorer mon jeu.
Ce matin je me suis rendue au MimeCentrum, dans Kreuzberg, et pour 6Euros j'ai participé à un cours hebdomadaire qui s'intitule 'Body and Voice'. La prof était allemande, mais elle donnait les directives en anglais. Peu importe la langue, il suffisait de suivre ses mouvements!
Il était bon d'être à nouveau dans un studio. Je me rappelle le feeling qu'un terrain de soccer jadis produisait en mon être: un champ de possibilité, un terrain de jeu... les molécules en mon corps et mon esprits qui s'éveillent et s'excitent...
Notre premier show sera samedi soir. D'ici là, Harvey essaie de me convaincre de faire un spectacle en plein-air, genre amusement public. On dit que c'est la meilleure façon d'apprendre... J'ai la chienne. :)
Et pourquoi pas? Après tout, c'est bien ma langue maternelle! Je peux bien m'y reconnecter plus directement, maintenant que je suis sortie des États-désunis.
Je suis en Allemagne, et je n'y comprends pas grand chose!
Mais ce qui est encore plus étrange, c'est que je ne me souviens pas d'avoir vécu ceci lorsque j'appris l'anglais ou même l'espagnol. Et peut-être lors de mon voyage Brésil? Je ne me souviens pas si le portugais me parût aussi difficile que l'est présentement l'allemand.
Bref, j'ai mal au cerveau. Je viens d'emménager dans un appartement dans l'Est de Berlin, avec sept autres colocs, et je me sens plus isolée que jamais. Je sais que je démontre définitivement de l'impatience, mais c'est comme ça. Je me sentais si... ultra connectée, là-bas, à San Francisco. Ici, j'ai peine à partager ce que je suis et ce que je désire...
On parle anglais, bien sûr. Mais ce serait trop facile.
Nous avons repris le travail lundi. Il est bon de répéter, de se concentrer sur le language physique. Je me dis que j'ai en fait une parfaite opportunité pour observer la gestuelle comme mode de communication et d'incorporer le tout dans mon travail. Je me dis que l'obstacle de la langue me servira certainement à perfectionner mon jeu.
Hier soir j'ai fait la rencontre d'un superbe être humain. Sharon est un clown Israélien, employé dans un petit cirque ici, à Berlin. Il ne fait toutefois pas partie du show ces temps-ci, il m'a expliqué, parce qu'il a des problèmes de santé. Pour être plus juste: il est atteint d'un syndrome post-traumatique, suite à une expérience tragique qu'il a vécu lors de sa conscription avec l'armée Israélienne. Imaginez, un clown au coeur d'or, envoyé au combat en territoire Palestinien... son arme... puis une balle au corps d'une jeune femme.. elle tombe, morte. La scène est troublante pour nous qui ne l'avons même pas vécue. Sharon en fait des cauchemars la nuit. Il souffre.
Mais il est, ne l'oublions pas, bien plus que cela. Ne l'ayant pas encore vu sur scène - ou dans l'arène, je devrais plutôt dire - je sais pourtant déjà qu'il est un clown fabuleux. Il me suffit seulement de l'écouter me parler de ses maîtres: tout à coup ses yeux scintillent, son corps devient souple et... éloquent! Il m'explique les différentes méthodes d'enseignements, les différentes philosophies qu'y lui furent inculquées. Le clown, c'est l'art de ramener l'être à son essence via le corps. Chacun, chaque chose, à un rythme particulier; ''Walking is a secret dance'', raconte Sharon. Il suffit d'observer et d'extraire le vocabulaire que constitue quelconque gestuelle. Ensuite, on compose et on chorégraphe, comme avec la danse. Répétition, tempo, amplification, isolation, là sont les ingrédients (non exclusivement) d'un bon personnage. Le reste, le numéro, suit naturellement. ''It's not about the story or about emotions'' il annonce, ''It's not about the why, it's about how. That's where the funny is, because that's where the essence is.''
J'ai tant à apprendre, à pratiquer, à intégrer. Le corps a une mémoire, il ne s'agit que de l'entraîner. Après cette conversation avec Sharon j'ai de nouveaux outils pour améliorer mon jeu.
Ce matin je me suis rendue au MimeCentrum, dans Kreuzberg, et pour 6Euros j'ai participé à un cours hebdomadaire qui s'intitule 'Body and Voice'. La prof était allemande, mais elle donnait les directives en anglais. Peu importe la langue, il suffisait de suivre ses mouvements!
Il était bon d'être à nouveau dans un studio. Je me rappelle le feeling qu'un terrain de soccer jadis produisait en mon être: un champ de possibilité, un terrain de jeu... les molécules en mon corps et mon esprits qui s'éveillent et s'excitent...
Notre premier show sera samedi soir. D'ici là, Harvey essaie de me convaincre de faire un spectacle en plein-air, genre amusement public. On dit que c'est la meilleure façon d'apprendre... J'ai la chienne. :)
Sonntag (Sun-Day) in Berlin!
I guess I'm having a difficult time keeping up with everything that's been unfolding in the last few days. It's a good thing, of course.
I arrived in Berlin on Friday night, after a long drive on the world-famous Autobahn. I had always wondered what it'd be like to experience the absence of a speed limit. Well it gets a little bit scary when you're going 150km per hour (that's 93mph), but I guess that's why people own such nice cars around here!
I got dropped off right in front of my host's apartment, but I had to hang around for a bit because this man who'd accepted my couchsurfing request was at the ballet for the evening. I therefore laid down my bags and sat in the Marrianenplätz park, right across the street from what would be my first Berlin abode.
I took out my juggling clubs and played around a little in order to shake off the stalled energy from the six and a half hour car ride. Soon a first person walked up to me and spoke... fast. "Ich spreche night viel Deutsch" I said, "entchuldigung."
A moment later, I heard the sound of guitar playing. Across the park, up the steps leading in front of a big stone building (was it the church my host had mentioned?), a crowd of seemingly young adults were making a bbq and drinking some beers. "They must be Turkish", I thought to myself. You see, that was the main thing I'd been told about the Kreuzberg neighborhood: a lot of Turkish people.
When I approached to talk to them, I found that they were not Turkish, but rather cute German guys just hanging out and gathering before the swing concert that was about to take place inside the "Kulturalzentrum". More hip-looking folks gradually started to converge. Many rode bicycles. It kinda felt like Europe-meets-Valencia street! I heard a lot of Spanish, and also some English. I had a basic conversation with one of them, and he offered me a beer. When they all left for the show, I sat alone, feeling safe and quite content.
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| Kulturcentrum, Marrianenplatz |
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| Zenzimmer |
In the morning, he likes to juice fresh apples, beets, and carrots. I am filled with gratefulness.
On Saturday night, Christian invited me to join him at a friend's dinner party. "Who are these people?" I asked as we biked across the city on the way to the Mitte, the old lower class Jewish neighborhood, which is now rapidly gentrifying and becoming a booming center of commerce, culture, and abundant tourism. "I used to work in the theater with the woman, and they have become good friends. I'd say they represent a kind of new bourgeoisie in Berlin. He works for VW. They have three kids. There's should be about 20 or 30 people there."
"There's my chance to practice my German!" I thought, however well aware that these people would certainly speak very good English, and possibly French as well.
So there I was, eating delicious (free) food around a table with young German middle class workers and artists, discussing installation art and video collage... and clown. Good cheese, good soup, good wine. And after dinner, cigarettes galore! It reminded me of home, Quebec that is, and of the dinner parties my parents used to have. I looked around and listen, hardly believing the situation I was in.
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| TV tower, Spree |
Sunday morning I grab a map and head towards the Ostbahnhof train station, which is less than a ten minutes walk across a lovely river called die Spree. This station is an important one: it is quite big and confusing to me. There are S-Bahn and U-Bahn and buses; I've had a relatively rough time understanding the system since my arrival. So I stand there staring blankly at some screen, uncertain of which platform to go to. I don't want to be late for my appointment: I'm hoping to secure myself a room for the next six weeks!
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| der Spree |
My map doesn't actually cover the area I'm heading to. It's in Prenzlauerberg, in what used to be East Berlin. Until about twenty years ago it was rather devoid of any wealth; today it is one of the most vibrant parts in town! There are terraces and Cafes everywhere: Italian, French, Mediterranean, British, Spanish.. and German. I immediately feel comfortable... and inspired.
I ask for direction and decide to trust my instincts.. walking in the general northeast direction from the train station.
I found the place with relative ease. I had seen the facade of the building on google satellite, and was pleased to see that there is actually a park (there are lots of parks all over Berlin) right on the corner. I hoped that my potential flatmates would not be bothered by my being late. So far, I have found that every German I've related with is, indeed, quite focussed on being on time, tidy, and efficient.
I rang the door bell with the name Schmake on it, but noticed that the front door was open so I walked in. As I'd been told, there was the inner yard… a vision of my East Berlin fantasies: tall brick walls displaying colorful uplifting murals!
I crossed the yard and walked up to the fourth floor; I knocked. I wasn't completely certain of whether or not I'd secured the room through our email exchanges, but I had most of the two hundred Euros, just in case. Part of me wants to put my luggage down and set up camp for a bit, have a little altar, create ground for myself. To be constantly searching for hosts is something that eats up a good amount of energy. Furthermore, I find that living in someone else's space makes it harder for me to enjoy those moments of solitude, which I value so much.
Yet, the gypsy part feels a bit betrayed when I think of all the couch surfing encounters I won't get to make.
I sat a the breakfast table with J. and M., the two guys I had been in touch with over the past three weeks or so. I have been put in touch with them through Yuko Kaseki, the Butoh master I am signed up to take a week-long workshop with in two weeks. I am smiling incontrollable inside of myself: I can't believe I'm sitting at a table with these two guys, holding a conversation (in German!) with these two established performance artists, in this squat-like apartment (I'm told there will be 8 roommates in the house, me included) of East Berlin! I'm struggling to understand everything they are saying to each other and to me, but I manage to refrain from English because I really want to learn. And for once, my interlocutors are not bulging either. M. offers me some coffee, and I watch them eat their breakfast of small breads and salami as we speak of travels and art, of the neighborhood. A few more people come through the kitchen; a girl apparently speaks some French. They are all either sleepy or shy or perhaps they're just quiet like that.
I sat a the breakfast table with J. and M., the two guys I had been in touch with over the past three weeks or so. I have been put in touch with them through Yuko Kaseki, the Butoh master I am signed up to take a week-long workshop with in two weeks. I am smiling incontrollable inside of myself: I can't believe I'm sitting at a table with these two guys, holding a conversation (in German!) with these two established performance artists, in this squat-like apartment (I'm told there will be 8 roommates in the house, me included) of East Berlin! I'm struggling to understand everything they are saying to each other and to me, but I manage to refrain from English because I really want to learn. And for once, my interlocutors are not bulging either. M. offers me some coffee, and I watch them eat their breakfast of small breads and salami as we speak of travels and art, of the neighborhood. A few more people come through the kitchen; a girl apparently speaks some French. They are all either sleepy or shy or perhaps they're just quiet like that.
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| View from my bedroom window! |
I'm given a tour. There are paintings everywhere in the hallway. We walk up to the second floor where M. introduces me to his turtles (one of them has laid another egg this morning!) and his plants. The whole place is a little grungy; it's just the way I like it! There is a small balcony with more plants everywhere, and a small pool for M's gold fishes. The sun is glorious! I feel like dancing and praising the Lord!! A neighbor is coming down a ladder from the rooftop, her cat following her and what seems to be a picnic basket. M. interjects: "Hast du ein pick-nick gemacht?" They exchange a few words and laugh. I wonder if most people in the compound are also artists.
"Konnen wir… auf… the roof gehen?" I ask. "Ja!" he says. And so we walk up to the roof of the building to witness a marvelous view. I can't wait to be laying down on this roof and watch the stars!
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| Mural (my new place!) |
But I must go now. The boys have a show that night and they must get ready. Besides, I am meeting Harvey at Mauer Park in a little bit. We make arrangements for the key and I head out, following directions I have been given ("Valk to zuch und zuch strasse (street), then make a left, und dann.. just listen for French and Spanisch touristen und you follow them.. They vill be going to Mauer Park for sure.") But I first have to stop in one of those bakeries and buy one of those small snack-sandwich for the cheap sum of 1,60 Euros. ( It seems that one could easily feed and sustain themselves for less than 6Euros a day here. There's a lot of cheap and delicious bread. I am however craving some fresh vegetable… tonight I'll make a salad.)
It's the famous flea market sunday in Mauer park, and there's crowds of people flooding the place. I set out to find Harvey, who's been twisting balloons for a few hours already in order to make so pocket money. I have brought my juggling clubs, but I haven't yet decided whether or not I'm ready to officially call attention on myself and busk for money. When I choose to do so I'll probably wear some makeup and put on some music. I'm not quite prepared for that yet.
When I find Harvey she tells me she's had enough of staying in that spot. She hasn't made much money and she wants to go explore the market. So we play a little bit more, have a few interactions with people, and proceed to cross the lawn to go check out the goodies. Used stuff, clothes, bikes (I want a bike so bad!!), books, LPs… it's all there. There are a lot of nice-looking hippyish clothes and artisan jewelry. I reminisce about Oaxaca, where I went about a year ago, and I actually feel somewhat ambivalent at the understanding that things are really quite the same everywhere…
Daniel meets us a little bit later. He's one of the Israeli friends Harvey has made at Zirkus Zack. He's an aerialist and a dancer, and I just love his hat!
We spend the afternoon wandering around, and then finding a good spot to relax and play. In the short distance I see… a slackline! Is my foot well enough to go walk on it yet? It has gotten much better over the past few days, but I still feel a bit careful when it comes to fully extending and stretching it. Oh screw it… let's give it a try!!
"Kann ich.. spielen?"
"Ja"
And I think to myself: what a wunderbar world…
(Except I've been trying to craft and post this blog for three days now... I'm having a bit of trouble!!)
(Except I've been trying to craft and post this blog for three days now... I'm having a bit of trouble!!)
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Castles on the hills
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| Testing out the playgrounds of Germany! |
Time in Darmstadt was lovely, although it was principally due to the fact that I got to hang out with my philosopherfriend (clumping it, the German way!).
Christof showed me the few "attractions" of this area where he grew up, "bowel-city", as it apparently translates. These included: a funky building called the Waldspirale, some old churches, a bunch of phallic towers, a huge garden, and remnants of what used to be the city's walls. Darmstadt did remind me of Quebec city in some way.
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| Der Vater und die Mutter Darmstadt |
Having my friend around was a perfect way to start my journey, for I could ask him all kinds of questions about the language and the culture.
He also brought me to visit two different castles around the area.
During our drive to the "Burg Frankenstein", I asked: "Would you say that, in general, Europeans have a better historical consciousness, given that these landmarks from the Middle Ages are still right in their face?"
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| Heidelberg Schloss |
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| Omnibus für Direkte Demokratie in Deutschland |
"I've come to see the power structures so clearly," he told me with a tone of despair, "and we can deconstruct all that which we observe now, but what's left? What's needed is an integral approach to politics..."
And we'd come to a dead end, because it seems so impossible to reverse the stream of history. Abuse, greed, corruption, hypocrisy... how could we ever bring about justice and "sustainability" to the world?"I guess it'll take a common other for the human species to come together and shift our behavior." I said. And we fell silent.
As we hiked up the hill to the ruins I shared this romantic idea with my friend: Imagine what it'd be like if the monarch - a queen, preferably - had her castle built at the bottom of the valley instead of up the hill. I know it's a far-fetched thought, but hey, let me have my fantasy here! Her settling at the epicenter of her queendom could signify an invitation, rather than a threat: "Come to me, people. I am open to hear your concerns." Of course, she would be vulnerable in such a position, but that's where her strength would come from. Personally, I'd have a lot of respect for a ruler who would choose to be vulnerable...
Anyway.
Those are my Darmstadt stories... Although of course, I'm sparing you all the musings on consciousness and reality and free will versus destiny...
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| Heidelberg |
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| Heidelberg |
Yesterday I took a rideshare in direction of Berlin. I spent over six hours in a car with three foreign students... from Cameroon! Martin, Charibert, and Leticia all studied in Darmstadt. They spoke fluent German but told me Germany was a difficult place to be for them. "Germans are not so... friendly," Martin explained. "You know, sometimes I meet another African person and we just start to chat and we laugh and it feels like we've known each other forever.. like we're cousins or something. And a German guy comes to me after and asks me if I knew the other guy before, and I say 'no, that was our first encounter!', you know? That's what I'm talking about. They're so busy working."
"Have you been to Africa yet?" asked Charibert.
"No. Not yet." I said.
"You should. You'll see that it's not just misery in Africa... it's a good life, good people... you don't know stress when you live there."
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| Waldspirale Darmstadt |
I've been in Europe for less than a week... but I could easily get used to this. And especially since I've arrived in Berlin now, I meet people everyday, who speak German and English and French, Spanish...
But more about Berlin in the next log. I have to go to sleep now. I'm going to visit a potential sublet tomorrow morning!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Hier sein
I'm here. The only place I found to access the internet was... a McDonald's. It's a sad sad thing. Perhaps I could have found a nice European cafe had I wandered a bit more, but I'm still carrying my backpack, front-pack, and rolly-suitcase around for now and I have to hang around the train station until my friend Christof meets me at two o'clock.
I woke up in an empty apartment, in Frankfurt, this morning. I made myself an egg sandwich, consolidated and packed all my belongings, dropped the key off in a neighbor's mailbox, and I took my trash out before finding someone to ask for directions: "Entchuldigung? Ich suche die (or is it "der", "das", "den", "der"?!) .. Dorebusch Banhof."
"Dornbusch Banhof, Ja" answered the woman. "Anoiufaebgerausfpasdfnsdalinks und dann nächste Strasse und dikjfnsadfiuasbfjkfalsdfiasdfkjsnfl". Wow... this is going to be harder than I thought. I can pick up about fifty percent of what people tell me. With the rest, I'm at a total loss. I guess people speak some English, especially the younger generations, but I want to learn so I must make the effort. My brain hurts.
Right outside of the train station, in a shop window, my eye caught a poster of San Francisco. I sighed. I've been here before. It's all too familiar: humans go about their lives, working, eating, raising their kids. And I'm just passing through, chasing the ethereal dream of actualizing myself... seemingly ungrounded, still.
A man walked up the stairs next to me and asked if he could help. "Ja, danke." In slow, self-conscious, bad German, I tried to explain I was looking for the train to the Hauptbahnhof (the central station) and then to Darmstadt. He told me to follow him. When I asked where I could buy a train ticket, he said "Ich bin polizei. Alles ist gut." They don't ask for your ticket to get on the train here. They might come check randomly and give you a fine if they caught you, but in this case I was apparently safe because this nice policeman in civilian clothes had taken me under his wing. He led me to the right tracks, found my train on the schedule, and told me it would soon come. "Aber ich... need.. ein telefon auch" I said. I needed to buy a cellphone. So we walked back up, and there we ran into somebody he knew. "Sie ist Kanadierin" spoke my police friend to the other man. "Ah! I'm going to Canada next week. Nova Scotia. It's the world championship for tuna fishing. I'm a fisherman."
"Cool", I said.
"Ja. I travel all over the world for fishing. I just went to California last week" he added.
"Really? Where?"
"Frisco. Und San Diego und L.A. I biked across the Golden Gate bridge to Sausalito. I loooved San Francisco!"
"Yes,"I said with a smile full of surprise and nostalgia,"I was there yesterday. I lived there for five years. I just left."
The two men helped me buy a cheap cell phone before we parted. I went back down to wait for my train. In limbo. I wonder if they use that word in German: in limbo.
I arrived in Darmstadt much sooner than I had planned, so I took a moment to put my load down in the grass outside, and stretch. I took off my shoes to feel the earth, grabbed my juggling clubs, and played a little bit. My surroundings look simple, organized. There are German people everywhere, and they are wearing nice clean clothes.
I remind myself that the journey is just beginning... I know this place, I've been here before. It's the place where nothing special is going on, and it makes me a bit anxious and depressed. I tell myself that it's only a matter of time, of holding myself through this transition, of allowing my feelings to exist and unfold..
But for now, I need to get the hell out of this McDonald's! :)
I woke up in an empty apartment, in Frankfurt, this morning. I made myself an egg sandwich, consolidated and packed all my belongings, dropped the key off in a neighbor's mailbox, and I took my trash out before finding someone to ask for directions: "Entchuldigung? Ich suche die (or is it "der", "das", "den", "der"?!) .. Dorebusch Banhof."
"Dornbusch Banhof, Ja" answered the woman. "Anoiufaebgerausfpasdfnsdalinks und dann nächste Strasse und dikjfnsadfiuasbfjkfalsdfiasdfkjsnfl". Wow... this is going to be harder than I thought. I can pick up about fifty percent of what people tell me. With the rest, I'm at a total loss. I guess people speak some English, especially the younger generations, but I want to learn so I must make the effort. My brain hurts.
Right outside of the train station, in a shop window, my eye caught a poster of San Francisco. I sighed. I've been here before. It's all too familiar: humans go about their lives, working, eating, raising their kids. And I'm just passing through, chasing the ethereal dream of actualizing myself... seemingly ungrounded, still.
A man walked up the stairs next to me and asked if he could help. "Ja, danke." In slow, self-conscious, bad German, I tried to explain I was looking for the train to the Hauptbahnhof (the central station) and then to Darmstadt. He told me to follow him. When I asked where I could buy a train ticket, he said "Ich bin polizei. Alles ist gut." They don't ask for your ticket to get on the train here. They might come check randomly and give you a fine if they caught you, but in this case I was apparently safe because this nice policeman in civilian clothes had taken me under his wing. He led me to the right tracks, found my train on the schedule, and told me it would soon come. "Aber ich... need.. ein telefon auch" I said. I needed to buy a cellphone. So we walked back up, and there we ran into somebody he knew. "Sie ist Kanadierin" spoke my police friend to the other man. "Ah! I'm going to Canada next week. Nova Scotia. It's the world championship for tuna fishing. I'm a fisherman."
"Cool", I said.
"Ja. I travel all over the world for fishing. I just went to California last week" he added.
"Really? Where?"
"Frisco. Und San Diego und L.A. I biked across the Golden Gate bridge to Sausalito. I loooved San Francisco!"
"Yes,"I said with a smile full of surprise and nostalgia,"I was there yesterday. I lived there for five years. I just left."
The two men helped me buy a cheap cell phone before we parted. I went back down to wait for my train. In limbo. I wonder if they use that word in German: in limbo.
I arrived in Darmstadt much sooner than I had planned, so I took a moment to put my load down in the grass outside, and stretch. I took off my shoes to feel the earth, grabbed my juggling clubs, and played a little bit. My surroundings look simple, organized. There are German people everywhere, and they are wearing nice clean clothes.
I remind myself that the journey is just beginning... I know this place, I've been here before. It's the place where nothing special is going on, and it makes me a bit anxious and depressed. I tell myself that it's only a matter of time, of holding myself through this transition, of allowing my feelings to exist and unfold..
But for now, I need to get the hell out of this McDonald's! :)
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
GoodDay Sunshine
Today, September-something of two thousand and eleven, I sit on a comfy couch in a small room in the back of a Mission apartment. I'm still in San Francisco.
Here is something I don't quite understand. If time is relative, if part of the revolution-in-our-consciousness-has-to-do-with-understanding-time-as-a-series-of-moments-that-each-holds-endless-potentiality, then what does that do to space?!
What's the relationship between time and space again? Einstein, tell me. Right now I write here, so right now I' right here.
My mom asked me: "Do you feel that your.. masters... gave you... something... ? You know.. "
(Or did I hear it from a voice in my head? 'Cuz I do ask myself that question sometimes, but then I know: "Yes mom, it's hard to explain but I do. It's like... it's changed my relationship with the world and the times we live in.."
(Self reflexivity and psychoses,
kitchen talk on a tuesday afternoon
My friends are psychoanalysts!
For God's sake.
Am I hysterical or obsessive?
Desire to be desired; desire to neutralize an other's desire. i think of yin and yang.
And is there even an other,
anymore?)
I am moving again, in about an hour. I am packing my suitcase and my backpack, grabbing my crutches, and taking the 33 bus towards the Sunset neighborhood; I'm staying with Liz and Erin tonight. And tomorrow I'll work with Claire again. But Liz was one of the first friends I made here ...
It's funny how I seem to be able to place my feelings in drawers that don't open too wide until I'm in the presence of the object connected to them.
Perhaps it's because there is too much to feel in each moment.
Except when there isn't. And that's when thoughts of the past and future fill in...
I'm sitting. Fool of feelings.
Here is something I don't quite understand. If time is relative, if part of the revolution-in-our-consciousness-has-to-do-with-understanding-time-as-a-series-of-moments-that-each-holds-endless-potentiality, then what does that do to space?!
What's the relationship between time and space again? Einstein, tell me. Right now I write here, so right now I' right here.
My mom asked me: "Do you feel that your.. masters... gave you... something... ? You know.. "
(Or did I hear it from a voice in my head? 'Cuz I do ask myself that question sometimes, but then I know: "Yes mom, it's hard to explain but I do. It's like... it's changed my relationship with the world and the times we live in.."
 |
| Women's Building, 18th st @ Guerrero, SF |
 |
| View of Market St, from Twin Peaks. SF |
(Self reflexivity and psychoses,
kitchen talk on a tuesday afternoon
My friends are psychoanalysts!
For God's sake.
Am I hysterical or obsessive?
Desire to be desired; desire to neutralize an other's desire. i think of yin and yang.
And is there even an other,
anymore?)
I am moving again, in about an hour. I am packing my suitcase and my backpack, grabbing my crutches, and taking the 33 bus towards the Sunset neighborhood; I'm staying with Liz and Erin tonight. And tomorrow I'll work with Claire again. But Liz was one of the first friends I made here ...
It's funny how I seem to be able to place my feelings in drawers that don't open too wide until I'm in the presence of the object connected to them.
Perhaps it's because there is too much to feel in each moment.
Except when there isn't. And that's when thoughts of the past and future fill in...
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Plantary! (fascitis)
I'm being torn
I'm tearing myself
Yesterday I played basketball with a bunch of men in Dolores Park. I held my own, I sweated a bit; it was all good. Except that I was not wearing my running shoes. I was wearing my dancing shoes, Natalie's bright turquoise and fushia adidas, and they are a tiny big for me.
I have to admit to myself, that I knew I was taking a chance, but I thought: "rough it up Ev... Many people in the world don't have perfectly fitted shoes to do whatever they do... Just tie 'em laces up real' good, and be careful." Well... I played two games, and in the end I did injure myself. I didn't sprain my ankle, and I didn't bust a finger or anything. It's an old injury, a familiar pain, that sneaked up on me...
By the evening I was limping.
I woke up this morning, unable to put any weight on my right foot!
SHIT!
What have I done?! I'm leaving for Germany in a week! I was gonna train with the Flying Actor Studio all of this week!! I was gonna go reggae dancing tonight!!!
Perhaps this is "precisely" the message, uh?
I don't know about "precisely" in fact. I mean...
I have been running in a dozen directions. I've been under stress, dealing with a hundred emotions, holding on to the last moments I can have with my friends.
I've been a restless hummingbird,
flapping my wings,
the rhythm of my heartbeat
frantic
Today I'm walking with crutches.
I swear I do wanna slow down. I don't know how to handle the energies that run through my body; they are my emotions I guess. And I have learned to let them move through my body, to exercise to exorcise. It has been my salvation, I'd say. I poured my passions into soccer, it's true. The rage and anxieties, the desires and the fears, the questions; I got to "use"these energies, to channel them, to... discharge.
And I realize that I do the same today. I find that moving is a great way to be with my emotions... (although now it's principally through dancing.)
It's just that perhaps I push too far too fast, sometimes. That's probably why/how I get injured. It has happened a few times recently - first with my arm, and now with my foot!
I gotta admit that I'm somewhat angry and disappointed in myself for not picking up on my body's signals. I am aware that some people believe that the physical has nothing to do with the psycho-emotional. But really? There has never been a doubt in my mind about the inter-relatedness of body and mind. (So I'm not even going to go into it!)
Yet I wonder. Why me?! Why now?!
Meanwhile, I spent a marvelous today, in the East Bay, with two wonderful women, whom I love tremendously. We ate a breakfast of garden vegetables and poached eggs, outside in the yard. We talked, and shared, and laughed.
Everything is perfect.
It's going to be nice to slow down a bit.
I'm tearing myself
Yesterday I played basketball with a bunch of men in Dolores Park. I held my own, I sweated a bit; it was all good. Except that I was not wearing my running shoes. I was wearing my dancing shoes, Natalie's bright turquoise and fushia adidas, and they are a tiny big for me.
I have to admit to myself, that I knew I was taking a chance, but I thought: "rough it up Ev... Many people in the world don't have perfectly fitted shoes to do whatever they do... Just tie 'em laces up real' good, and be careful." Well... I played two games, and in the end I did injure myself. I didn't sprain my ankle, and I didn't bust a finger or anything. It's an old injury, a familiar pain, that sneaked up on me...
By the evening I was limping.
I woke up this morning, unable to put any weight on my right foot!
SHIT!
What have I done?! I'm leaving for Germany in a week! I was gonna train with the Flying Actor Studio all of this week!! I was gonna go reggae dancing tonight!!!
Perhaps this is "precisely" the message, uh?
I don't know about "precisely" in fact. I mean...
I have been running in a dozen directions. I've been under stress, dealing with a hundred emotions, holding on to the last moments I can have with my friends.
I've been a restless hummingbird,
flapping my wings,
the rhythm of my heartbeat
frantic
Today I'm walking with crutches.
I swear I do wanna slow down. I don't know how to handle the energies that run through my body; they are my emotions I guess. And I have learned to let them move through my body, to exercise to exorcise. It has been my salvation, I'd say. I poured my passions into soccer, it's true. The rage and anxieties, the desires and the fears, the questions; I got to "use"these energies, to channel them, to... discharge.
And I realize that I do the same today. I find that moving is a great way to be with my emotions... (although now it's principally through dancing.)
It's just that perhaps I push too far too fast, sometimes. That's probably why/how I get injured. It has happened a few times recently - first with my arm, and now with my foot!
I gotta admit that I'm somewhat angry and disappointed in myself for not picking up on my body's signals. I am aware that some people believe that the physical has nothing to do with the psycho-emotional. But really? There has never been a doubt in my mind about the inter-relatedness of body and mind. (So I'm not even going to go into it!)
Yet I wonder. Why me?! Why now?!
Meanwhile, I spent a marvelous today, in the East Bay, with two wonderful women, whom I love tremendously. We ate a breakfast of garden vegetables and poached eggs, outside in the yard. We talked, and shared, and laughed.
Everything is perfect.
It's going to be nice to slow down a bit.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
This is the Point, dot dot dot
After writing my morning blog today I went out to meet up with Lynn. It was ten o'clock, and a glorious september sun bathed the Mission district. I walked to Ritual Cafe, sat on a stoop outside, and took out my book: "Learn German the Fast and Easy Way." You see, I studied German for about six years already, and I've been pleased to find that it is coming back to me fairly rapidly!
Lynn arrived and I suggested we go to Arizmendi Bakery instead, because I love their products, and their ethics. (It is workers owned). We caught up a little bit, "what's up with you?" "How are things?" "How have you been?" Our conversation quickly led to ponderings on relationship, sexuality, gender, and intimacy. Lynn is a marvelous being, a noble man. He's going to be a great teacher. I am infinitely grateful that our paths have crossed, for I have grown and I am a better person having met him.
You see, it's these relationships that I am "leaving behind." It's things like that that break my heart...
I was meeting Claire's grandma in front of pre-school, for pick-up, and had invited Lynn to meet my little friend. Grandma invited him for lunch, and we ended up sitting at Barney's in Noe Valley, with Claire's grandfather, AT, also joining us. The thing is, both AT and Lynn are history teachers at the high school level, and both have an interest in policy and the way history is taught. Lynn has studied a lot about "The Harlem Renaissance", and AT possesses the largest collection of Jazz I have ever seen! I was sure the two would hit it off.
There was a theme today.
What form does it take? What is the point of my blog? How does one present, or "sell" one's self? Here we are, looking for employment as teachers, and as artists. How does one focus and convey one's intention?
My mission statement: To be a mirror. To reflect.
This blog might seem like an mere outlet for the ceaseless musings (didn't I call it as such?) of one individual in three millions. This blog might seem hopelessly idiosyncratic, and amorphous... somewhat scattered.. I call it windy.
I would love to see it take a more pointed direction, a more concise function, a more defined reason. I would love "finding a niche", reach a specific group of readers, answering that one specific set of questions.
But it has been my belief for a long time now, that the world needs a dose of tumult, of unreason, of anti-linearity, of ex-pression.
Yes, my blog is subjective. I am a Nietzschean after all, having undeniably unconsciously created my own appropriation.
So while a part of me wants to offer more of a "package", I'm obviously struggling to convey another conviction...
That the form is content.
The form is content.
And after work I played soccer in the backyard with a nine year old boy and his father Victor. We juggled, we chatted; we had a sweet connection.
Then I mounted my bike and found my way to Lara's Art Opening, at a neat tapas restaurant on Bryant and 21st street. Lara's work is phenomenal. It's more than paintings, it's a full-on revolution! Here is the Artist statement she posted on her website:
I am a visionary with a great mission: to inspire people to follow their dreams.
My Art is made intuitively. I go through a process of coming down from my head into my heart with the intention of meeting myself, the moment and the unknown, to allow my feelings to lead the way.
I intend to create images that will provoke a sense of wonder and strong emotional release in the viewer.
Amongst the people present, a woman by the name of Stefunny. She has left a book on the table we are sharing; it's a classic: "The Ethical Slut". She is talking about some neurobiological studies, and about the way in which institutionalized (my word) monogamy is more damaging to our society than we think. According to her - and I have to say that I agree - "monogamy imposes limitation on our creativity and our potential for evolution. It is perhaps ultimately undesirable, because it is unsustainable."
"But it takes a certain kind of awareness to live out a polyamorous lifestyle," I suggest.
"Yes, polyamory is difficult, it requires effort, and self-love, and honnesty," she follows, "and that's why I wanna assist people in developing this awareness."
This is the point. Perhaps... All that's "mono" is unsustainable. It's unrealistic, dishonest, obsolete.
I want to love it all.
I want to grow within this web.
I want to inter-connect
I want to write a blog that inspires by reflecting just that.
I want to remember this magic.
I want to be a messenger and a conduit for this revolution I've been witnessing here, on the left coast of Amerika.
Lynn arrived and I suggested we go to Arizmendi Bakery instead, because I love their products, and their ethics. (It is workers owned). We caught up a little bit, "what's up with you?" "How are things?" "How have you been?" Our conversation quickly led to ponderings on relationship, sexuality, gender, and intimacy. Lynn is a marvelous being, a noble man. He's going to be a great teacher. I am infinitely grateful that our paths have crossed, for I have grown and I am a better person having met him.
I was meeting Claire's grandma in front of pre-school, for pick-up, and had invited Lynn to meet my little friend. Grandma invited him for lunch, and we ended up sitting at Barney's in Noe Valley, with Claire's grandfather, AT, also joining us. The thing is, both AT and Lynn are history teachers at the high school level, and both have an interest in policy and the way history is taught. Lynn has studied a lot about "The Harlem Renaissance", and AT possesses the largest collection of Jazz I have ever seen! I was sure the two would hit it off.
There was a theme today.
What form does it take? What is the point of my blog? How does one present, or "sell" one's self? Here we are, looking for employment as teachers, and as artists. How does one focus and convey one's intention?
My mission statement: To be a mirror. To reflect.
This blog might seem like an mere outlet for the ceaseless musings (didn't I call it as such?) of one individual in three millions. This blog might seem hopelessly idiosyncratic, and amorphous... somewhat scattered.. I call it windy.
I would love to see it take a more pointed direction, a more concise function, a more defined reason. I would love "finding a niche", reach a specific group of readers, answering that one specific set of questions.
But it has been my belief for a long time now, that the world needs a dose of tumult, of unreason, of anti-linearity, of ex-pression.
Yes, my blog is subjective. I am a Nietzschean after all, having undeniably unconsciously created my own appropriation.
So while a part of me wants to offer more of a "package", I'm obviously struggling to convey another conviction...
That the form is content.
The form is content.
And after work I played soccer in the backyard with a nine year old boy and his father Victor. We juggled, we chatted; we had a sweet connection.
Then I mounted my bike and found my way to Lara's Art Opening, at a neat tapas restaurant on Bryant and 21st street. Lara's work is phenomenal. It's more than paintings, it's a full-on revolution! Here is the Artist statement she posted on her website:
I am a visionary with a great mission: to inspire people to follow their dreams.
My Art is made intuitively. I go through a process of coming down from my head into my heart with the intention of meeting myself, the moment and the unknown, to allow my feelings to lead the way.
I intend to create images that will provoke a sense of wonder and strong emotional release in the viewer.
Amongst the people present, a woman by the name of Stefunny. She has left a book on the table we are sharing; it's a classic: "The Ethical Slut". She is talking about some neurobiological studies, and about the way in which institutionalized (my word) monogamy is more damaging to our society than we think. According to her - and I have to say that I agree - "monogamy imposes limitation on our creativity and our potential for evolution. It is perhaps ultimately undesirable, because it is unsustainable."
"But it takes a certain kind of awareness to live out a polyamorous lifestyle," I suggest.
"Yes, polyamory is difficult, it requires effort, and self-love, and honnesty," she follows, "and that's why I wanna assist people in developing this awareness."
 |
| The Heart is the Crucible |
This is the point. Perhaps... All that's "mono" is unsustainable. It's unrealistic, dishonest, obsolete.
I want to love it all.
I want to grow within this web.
I want to inter-connect
I want to write a blog that inspires by reflecting just that.
I want to remember this magic.
I want to be a messenger and a conduit for this revolution I've been witnessing here, on the left coast of Amerika.
Friday, September 9, 2011
mission (un)bound
Last night I crashed on the couch of what was my apartment a year ago. I'm back in the Mission for a few days, so I can soak up the love from my good friend Jeremy; so I can further the transition within the transition, walk forward while revisiting my past, as in a Great Spiral. Last night I slept on my first couch of this journey.
My plans for Germany are beginning to take shape.
I'm landing in Frankfurt in eleven days! I have a few prospective hosts there, from couchsurfing.com. There's a young, seemingly cynical, Spaniard, who's a diabolo juggler, there's a musician from Israel who says he likes kazoos, and a Carioca girl who likes to dance a lot.
Part of me feels rather overwhelmed at the thought of floating around for the next three months. I would like to have some ground, buy groceries for a week, take my clothes out of my backpack. I would like to have a space where I can encounter myself alone, and light a candle. But the way things are looking so far, it is not gonna happen for the first two or three weeks of my trip. I'll be spending two nights here, one night there, and another three nights over there...
Yet another part of me finally spoke up last night: these people I'll meet are also my mirrors! Isn't this what I wanted? A pilgrimage, an encounter between God and I? This is happening!
So my plan is to spend one night in Frankfurt before heading towards Darmstadt, which is apparently only fifteen minutes south. A friend from PCC lives there. We got along very well when we studied together, and now I get to meet with him in his homeland! I can only imagine the conversations we'll have: Germany, San Francisco, Philosophy-Cosmology-and Consciousness... It should keep us awake for some days!
Then I'm going to Berlin for September the 24th. I'll be meeting with Harvey there and taking a one-day clown/mime/theater workshop at the Theaterhaus Mitte! It should be good!
So that's... the next two weeks.. not even in a nutshell, 'cuz there's much more nuts beneath the shell!
My plans for Germany are beginning to take shape.
I'm landing in Frankfurt in eleven days! I have a few prospective hosts there, from couchsurfing.com. There's a young, seemingly cynical, Spaniard, who's a diabolo juggler, there's a musician from Israel who says he likes kazoos, and a Carioca girl who likes to dance a lot.
Part of me feels rather overwhelmed at the thought of floating around for the next three months. I would like to have some ground, buy groceries for a week, take my clothes out of my backpack. I would like to have a space where I can encounter myself alone, and light a candle. But the way things are looking so far, it is not gonna happen for the first two or three weeks of my trip. I'll be spending two nights here, one night there, and another three nights over there...
Yet another part of me finally spoke up last night: these people I'll meet are also my mirrors! Isn't this what I wanted? A pilgrimage, an encounter between God and I? This is happening!
So my plan is to spend one night in Frankfurt before heading towards Darmstadt, which is apparently only fifteen minutes south. A friend from PCC lives there. We got along very well when we studied together, and now I get to meet with him in his homeland! I can only imagine the conversations we'll have: Germany, San Francisco, Philosophy-Cosmology-and Consciousness... It should keep us awake for some days!
Then I'm going to Berlin for September the 24th. I'll be meeting with Harvey there and taking a one-day clown/mime/theater workshop at the Theaterhaus Mitte! It should be good!
So that's... the next two weeks.. not even in a nutshell, 'cuz there's much more nuts beneath the shell!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Big Mountain
Where am I?
I'm sitting in a sunny cafe of "the Castro", in San Francisco, California. I'm drinking a chai latte. I want to write about so many things...
Like waking up before sunrise in yet another one of the myriads of quaint - and often luxurious- apartment in the city. Loading a grey Saab with boxes of stuff to go store them in "my employers" garage (as I often put it, though generally followed with "but you know... they've been more... like friends...like... you know... angels?"
I want to write about going to church in Oakland that same day, at 9am. I'd like to convey the experience, but I doubt I could...
There is something about singing, early in the morning, with an assembly of black people and white people, kids and teenagers, young adults just like me, and people "in their prime". And there is something about the presence of elders...
So we sing:
"I woke up this morning with my mind, set on Spirit
I woke up this morning with my mind, set on Spirit
I woke up this morning with my mind, set on Spirit
Hallelu... Hallelu... Halleluuuujah"
(this is Oakland, California)
At 2pm, I'm playing dress up with CoiCoi. She's an old man and I'm a boy, and so we laugh. We head out to 19th & Franklin for an afternoon at Oakland Pride. "I wonder what we're supposed to do here," she comments, "you know?" "Yes," I answer with a smile, "you mean you need to know what's expected of you?" I hope I didn't say something... inappropriate (this is a euphemism, by the way). But she replies "oh is that what it is?" We laugh. We don't really know what's expected of us; it's true... Should we check out the information booths, the food vendors, the artisans... Should we consume? Well, I guess it's what they call a market, isn't it? It's a place where people come together and exchange, it's the place where we inter-act.
At its best it's also a crossroads where we celebrate and where culture happens. It's a place where consciousness changes. And in the consciousness of this fact, it's an event within which we get to witness our collectivity.
And we dance!
It's sunday afternoon and the sun is bright. Dancers and singers, drag queens and women hip hop duets, poets and djs are blasting their creativity out to crowds of curious passerbys and drunken teenagers, queers everywhere! There's now more or less four of us, Phoenix and Fei have joined and we're meandering the streets aimlessly, dancing here and there, moving on and catching up...
We head to an after-party around seven, and of course, the place is quite empty. But my dancing shoes are possessed. ('Cuz after all I did wake up this morning with the Spirit on my mind, which is my body.)
I'll dance, non-stop, until midnight. I think I was a bit entranced, or perhaps rather, manic. I couldn't stop dancing, feeling, MUSIC, MOVEMENT, and immense gratitude..
Sometimes I think that my dreams are my reality.. at least it has seemed this way for a short while now. How can I be so blessed to encounter such abundance? How can I be surrounded by so many angels, in a region of the world so gorgeous and magical, in the sunshine, writing alone, waiting for the next time I'll get to dance? And what am I to make of my privilege?
And I want to write about "my job", which is not quite what I would call "a job."
My role is to answer the questions of a "three and three-quarter"'s year old while taking a walk, kicking fallen leaves and smelling the flowers! My role is to make sure she is safe, physically, but also it's to not screw her up too much psychologically... my job is to remember that we are each other's teacher, and to learn to relax (it is such a contradiction). My job, is to not beat myself up too much when I think that I'm not good enough, that I'm not present enough.. that I'm tired and lazy, and... un-creative (? - Unimaginative is the best antonym for creative.)
You get the picture.
My job is directly related to my Masters degree.
And is there even such a thing as unimaginative?
-These thoughts I have while I'm with Claire, isn't that imagination too?-
My role is to be one of the teachers in a young child's life. I hope I've done okay. I hope she remembers the times we picked plums off the trees, I hope she remembers the laughs we shared, the music we made, the banana breads we baked, the physical comedy and the finger paintings, the songs and the stories..
My heart swells when I think of all the things I wont get to see her learn and grow into. I don't think I'd had this realization before. It's a loss, a deep letting go.
But as I've often sang to her: "Things they come, and things they go. And that's what thing you ought to know".
I'm sitting in a sunny cafe of "the Castro", in San Francisco, California. I'm drinking a chai latte. I want to write about so many things...
Like waking up before sunrise in yet another one of the myriads of quaint - and often luxurious- apartment in the city. Loading a grey Saab with boxes of stuff to go store them in "my employers" garage (as I often put it, though generally followed with "but you know... they've been more... like friends...like... you know... angels?"
I want to write about going to church in Oakland that same day, at 9am. I'd like to convey the experience, but I doubt I could...
There is something about singing, early in the morning, with an assembly of black people and white people, kids and teenagers, young adults just like me, and people "in their prime". And there is something about the presence of elders...
So we sing:
"I woke up this morning with my mind, set on Spirit
I woke up this morning with my mind, set on Spirit
I woke up this morning with my mind, set on Spirit
Hallelu... Hallelu... Halleluuuujah"
(this is Oakland, California)
At 2pm, I'm playing dress up with CoiCoi. She's an old man and I'm a boy, and so we laugh. We head out to 19th & Franklin for an afternoon at Oakland Pride. "I wonder what we're supposed to do here," she comments, "you know?" "Yes," I answer with a smile, "you mean you need to know what's expected of you?" I hope I didn't say something... inappropriate (this is a euphemism, by the way). But she replies "oh is that what it is?" We laugh. We don't really know what's expected of us; it's true... Should we check out the information booths, the food vendors, the artisans... Should we consume? Well, I guess it's what they call a market, isn't it? It's a place where people come together and exchange, it's the place where we inter-act.
At its best it's also a crossroads where we celebrate and where culture happens. It's a place where consciousness changes. And in the consciousness of this fact, it's an event within which we get to witness our collectivity.
And we dance!
It's sunday afternoon and the sun is bright. Dancers and singers, drag queens and women hip hop duets, poets and djs are blasting their creativity out to crowds of curious passerbys and drunken teenagers, queers everywhere! There's now more or less four of us, Phoenix and Fei have joined and we're meandering the streets aimlessly, dancing here and there, moving on and catching up...
We head to an after-party around seven, and of course, the place is quite empty. But my dancing shoes are possessed. ('Cuz after all I did wake up this morning with the Spirit on my mind, which is my body.)
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| Ecstasy, at Octavio and Hayes, SF. |
Sometimes I think that my dreams are my reality.. at least it has seemed this way for a short while now. How can I be so blessed to encounter such abundance? How can I be surrounded by so many angels, in a region of the world so gorgeous and magical, in the sunshine, writing alone, waiting for the next time I'll get to dance? And what am I to make of my privilege?
And I want to write about "my job", which is not quite what I would call "a job."
My role is to answer the questions of a "three and three-quarter"'s year old while taking a walk, kicking fallen leaves and smelling the flowers! My role is to make sure she is safe, physically, but also it's to not screw her up too much psychologically... my job is to remember that we are each other's teacher, and to learn to relax (it is such a contradiction). My job, is to not beat myself up too much when I think that I'm not good enough, that I'm not present enough.. that I'm tired and lazy, and... un-creative (? - Unimaginative is the best antonym for creative.)
You get the picture.
My job is directly related to my Masters degree.
And is there even such a thing as unimaginative?
-These thoughts I have while I'm with Claire, isn't that imagination too?-
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| with Claire and Grandma, at Stern Grove |
My role is to be one of the teachers in a young child's life. I hope I've done okay. I hope she remembers the times we picked plums off the trees, I hope she remembers the laughs we shared, the music we made, the banana breads we baked, the physical comedy and the finger paintings, the songs and the stories..
My heart swells when I think of all the things I wont get to see her learn and grow into. I don't think I'd had this realization before. It's a loss, a deep letting go.
But as I've often sang to her: "Things they come, and things they go. And that's what thing you ought to know".
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| Freedom?! |
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