Cool down, Warm up

My dinner is getting cold because I got my hips hooked on the salsa beats. Warming them up for some good times ahead.

Speaking in Centuries

It's been a quarter of a century since 1990. Take that, perspective.

Reminder

Want nothing; absorb everything.

Modern Sounds

It's 6 in the morning, and pouring rain, but the sky is light. Its soft white-gray hue lights up my curtains. The sound of the rain beating like pebbles against the balcony floor makes me think I might be in a tent in the middle of Jersey, or back home in the Pacific Northwest- or in the middle of a rainforest that Philly once must have been eons ago, like when brontosauri were still roaming the Earth munching on trees. As the day breaks and the minutes move forward, the rain slows to a silence and is surpassed by the sound of cars speeding by below over the wet roads, of car doors slamming shut, and of birds chirping and human voices calling. The roar of the brontosaurus becomes the groaning and heaving of the Septa bus and garbage trucks. Modern Sounds.

The Shark Devours the Seal in One Fell Swoop

To have the opportunity to say goodbye and prepare for a death is, I see now, an opportunity that exceeds expectations. In real life, according to the ways and whims of Mother Nature, death happens in an unplanned instant and is devoid of the sense of justice or retribution. It is not required to explain itself. It is not required to make sense, to forewarn or be gentle. Simply, it is a part of the system of life in which what comes must go. Life goes on. Screams are swallowed by the stars. From here on, survival is predicated on acceptance. However, what is accepted is not the death itself, but rather the sense of loss which becomes a part of the survivor's being.

Spatial Relationships in Dance

In movement, two kinds of spatial relationships are considered and accounted for: the one between the body and the space in which the body moves; and the one between the head-- which houses the mind-- and the body, which is viewed as being separate and distant from the self. Such a disjointed perspective helps to achieve extension, a largeness of presence, balance, and freedom of movement.

The Stranger's Hour

Stepping out into the vacant night, a couple hours before the break of dawn, the air is warm for winter and thick with fog. Beams of light from streetlamps streak through the darkness, their light scattered in a hundred thousand different directions by the microscopic droplets; darting, floating and swirling through space, so that the night is made strangely bright-- almost white-- leaving the lone witness of this hour's spell a stranger in a well-worn path, nought but a shadow herself passing through the mist.




Stepping out into the dawn, the birds scatter out of the bushes and trees. Passing by the empty lot of unkempt grass, a bovine figure stands against the far wall, a fixture beneath the cityscape. Tiny sparrows fly toward the fence, settling into the little looped wire openings. One settles next to a rusted padlock. The earthy red of the rust and the charming roundness of the little sparrow are expressions of beauty which sit side-by-side in peace against the golden light of the waking sun. The light is full of promise.




Stepping into the midnight hour, the air is frigid. The church steeple rises high into the navy blue sky and curves to meet the charcoal branches of a giant tree which bends to meet the steeple. They loom across the sky and pull the ground from beneath her feet. Hooded figures head toward one another, and cross without a word, eyes to the ground. The birds are silent, the fence empty.