twenty years
a generation
has passed
like a few breaths
and a walk through waist-high mud
gratitude and love abound.
twenty years
a generation
has passed
like a few breaths
and a walk through waist-high mud
gratitude and love abound.
Drums from Sergio Mendez announce my arrival
I samba past your white noise machine and
Wiggle my hips before your astonished face,
With each thrust of my hip, I say to you,
Take that! And that, too!
How dare you say you can’t imagine me dancing samba!
Can’t you see my light shines in all directions?
I pull faces out of wet clay.
I quilt remnants into epics.
I write. I teach. I inspire.
Now I’ll show you!
Shaking my shoulders,
Swinging my hips,
I lower myself to the floor with bent knees,
All the while, keeping my thighs closed.
You’ve seen Brazilians do this on TV, I’m sure.
So what if I am Filipina?
And an aging one at that!
Why would almond eyes and grey hair tell you what I cannot do?
My luminous light gyrates in all directions.
I cleared my 2012 calendar for death, anticipating that my mother’s time would be up the first part of this year. Instead, life in the form of dance filled the space, both inner and outer! I am thrilled to be dancing in Uhane with Jill, Terry, and the other unstoppable women.
When I first participated in Moving Memoirs last fall, Jill and Terry’s visionary workshop for women over 60 with stories to tell, I had just celebrated the one-year anniversary of my double total hip replacement surgery. But the surgery wasn’t the reason I wasn’t moving. After all, I had already gone back to my three- times-a-week salsa class. It was fear that kept me glued to my seat.
Little by little, however, I began to accept the gentle invitations to move freely, without boundaries, without judgment. Jill and Terry created a generous space for all. Soon, I was following my own instincts to move. Although I was still sitting a lot, I felt more and more comfortable in my own body.
Finally, at the end, I danced salsa, shaking my hips and swaying my arms. It was the first time I had ever danced by myself in public!
group rehearsing “Bawdy Talk” –
‘when the body is in pain, i feel betrayed…’
Gail Steinberg
starting on the floor, preparing to move
We are working with two very low hung aerial ‘slings’ made of parachute white ’tissue’ – the first day Ellen worked in one of the slings, while Sharon improvised below her there was a beautiful intimacy in what evolved, that inspired a section of ‘Uhane. Ellen went home and wrote this poem:
“Home”
My body lies
hanging white isseu,
A silk parachute
Inside, I can not see
what i look like, outside
I am a beached whale
Still breathing
Still moist
From the ocean
I am wondering
If there is a hereafter
Someone crawls under me
On all 4’s
Her back meets my back
I am in contact
Not alone, after all
Her back rippling and folding
Starts my back to move
Something like back to back CPR
Her movements make me feel
I am back in my element
The open sea
there is space around me
People are oohing and aahing
When I emerge,
I am home,
Dizzy
Until I lie down on
the smooth wooden floor
And it holds me too
We are going to write about our experiences working together to create UHANE – 14 performers and collaborators.
Back with more soon.
i have never blogged before. but, in creating Uhane, and working on my ‘last dance’ here in San Francisco, many thoughts are swirling around.
i cannot stop talking about the Uhane performing group. 10 unstoppable women. 10 funny, brave, beautiful, creative, constantly surprising women who i love to be around. being in the studio with this group, ‘i love to go to work every day’. because the average age of the 16 collaborators and performers in this work is over 50, the total of our ages and life experience is 951. they have a lot to say about anything i ask them about – from ‘who are your ghosts?’ to ‘what do you still want to explore and learn?’ they replied: ‘i want to be scared’, ‘i want to make a difference’, ‘i want to step into my sensuality’, ‘i want to get stronger, and stronger and stronger’….
photos and videos coming soon.