Friday, February 20, 2009
Alice Walker on Losing a Sister
My sister Maryanne used to buy me books by Alice Walker: In Search of Our Mother's Garden, The Way Forward is With a Broken Heart, The Color Purple. These books gave me immense hope and happiness, the wonderful satisfaction and sense of connection with writing that springs from a deep well of life, of authenticity.
I recently learned that Walker lost her own sister, who had (like my sister) been ill for many years. I was astounded at the similiarites between her physical, visceral reaction to her sister's death and my own. I also so greatly admire how she expands her vision outward even in the midst of grief and mourning to look at the wider world. Click on the link to see her essay:
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Balanced
Had the most wonderful time in my troupe's dance class last night. We are getting ready for Rakassah, the huge bellydance festival that takes place, at different times of the year on the East and West coasts. The festival is really amazing. Our troupe is doing a balancing dance, using pots we made this year. The floorwork we're learning is a bit different from the one shown here (from the amazing Hahbi Ru dance troupe), but the part where the women twist their hips in a kneeling position is very close to what we do...and man, it is physically taxing. I did this sequence over and over last night, probably ten times, plus other floor work, all while balancing a heavy, weighted pot (like the ones the women are dancing with here).
Plus falling backwards while kneeling and catching myself at the last minute. Plus getting off the floor from a kneeling position in one graceful move, without bobbling. Mind, you, I'm going to be fifty in four months. Would I have it any other way right now? Heck, no! I think those yoga classes are starting to pay off....
Enjoy Habhi Ru's balancing dance. They are an amazing and fun group:
Plus falling backwards while kneeling and catching myself at the last minute. Plus getting off the floor from a kneeling position in one graceful move, without bobbling. Mind, you, I'm going to be fifty in four months. Would I have it any other way right now? Heck, no! I think those yoga classes are starting to pay off....
Enjoy Habhi Ru's balancing dance. They are an amazing and fun group:
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thinking of Her
I took the Caltrain up to San Francisco today on an errand and went to a lovely tea house with my dear eldest daughter, about to launch into the world and, I hope, a stellar career. Her artwork is so beautiful, it wrings my heart and makes me glad that I have encouraged all my children to follow their dreams.
Sadness came to me, though, as I sat and looked out over a gorgeous San Francisco landscape, knowing how much fun it would have been to enjoy this lovely place with my sister. My sister's ashes were scattered at Point Reyes a short time ago, and this so much seals the finality of her brief life for me. At least my mother lived into her seventies, though much of it was spent in the misery of active drinking. My sister's life was such an abbreviation, and my heart breaks for this. So much of her existence was spent gathered around a single wish that never happened for her, a wish for a life with a man who ultimately cared nothing for her, whose love for her now boils down to dollars and cents. Her memory is a bill he would like to pay and be rid of. My sister was so much more than anything she believed about herself. I wonder if I dream of her in relation to mirrors because she so invested her self-esteem in what others thought of her.
Now she is fully gone, her ashes dispersed in a gray-white cloud over icy gray water. I am haunted by the idea of this finality, the fine dust of bone and carbon making a cloud in the tide, just for a moment, then vanishing, as if her life had only been the quickest of thoughts. This was her wish, to be scattered in this place of rough and silent beauty, but I wonder why--why no footnote of permanence, some testament to the fact of her life? My mother lies with her grandparents in the family plot, in Malden, Massachusetts; on my desk is a blue glass bottle filled with sacred earth from this place. Anytime I am on the East Coast, I can travel there and put flowers on my mother's grave. Anytime I am in Los Angeles, I can put blue and green carnations on my grandmother's grave. My daughter whispered to me over the phone when visiting the graves of our loved ones in Los Angeles that a single red maple leaf lay on my grandfather's grave, bright as a splatter of blood.
But my sister has no such place, no final mark to say, "I was here." She died alone, as did my mother, no one calling us in time, though I would have traveled across the world to hold my mother's hand at the very last, to cradle my sister in my arms as they unhooked her from life support. I am old enough now to have stood at the bedsides of the dead and the dying; when I was not even in my thirties, I held my stillborn son in my arms, saying hello and goodbye in the same instant. I would have done as much for the woman who gave birth to me and the sister who shared my life.
So I say to my sister, don't be afraid. Yes, the water is dark this time of night, the waves tall, as if in a painting brushed by Hokusai, the water black as squid's ink, but let it be your cloak, let the black water and the night air, pregnant with rain, give you a new body, fragile as the dome of a moon jelly. How often we looked for lights out in the ocean, thinking they were spirit lights, messages from a veiled world we thought we could almost glimpse. My two hands release you so that you may find the light, a bone-colored dove who flies away from me, easily into the silence, sure of its path.
Sadness came to me, though, as I sat and looked out over a gorgeous San Francisco landscape, knowing how much fun it would have been to enjoy this lovely place with my sister. My sister's ashes were scattered at Point Reyes a short time ago, and this so much seals the finality of her brief life for me. At least my mother lived into her seventies, though much of it was spent in the misery of active drinking. My sister's life was such an abbreviation, and my heart breaks for this. So much of her existence was spent gathered around a single wish that never happened for her, a wish for a life with a man who ultimately cared nothing for her, whose love for her now boils down to dollars and cents. Her memory is a bill he would like to pay and be rid of. My sister was so much more than anything she believed about herself. I wonder if I dream of her in relation to mirrors because she so invested her self-esteem in what others thought of her.
Now she is fully gone, her ashes dispersed in a gray-white cloud over icy gray water. I am haunted by the idea of this finality, the fine dust of bone and carbon making a cloud in the tide, just for a moment, then vanishing, as if her life had only been the quickest of thoughts. This was her wish, to be scattered in this place of rough and silent beauty, but I wonder why--why no footnote of permanence, some testament to the fact of her life? My mother lies with her grandparents in the family plot, in Malden, Massachusetts; on my desk is a blue glass bottle filled with sacred earth from this place. Anytime I am on the East Coast, I can travel there and put flowers on my mother's grave. Anytime I am in Los Angeles, I can put blue and green carnations on my grandmother's grave. My daughter whispered to me over the phone when visiting the graves of our loved ones in Los Angeles that a single red maple leaf lay on my grandfather's grave, bright as a splatter of blood.
But my sister has no such place, no final mark to say, "I was here." She died alone, as did my mother, no one calling us in time, though I would have traveled across the world to hold my mother's hand at the very last, to cradle my sister in my arms as they unhooked her from life support. I am old enough now to have stood at the bedsides of the dead and the dying; when I was not even in my thirties, I held my stillborn son in my arms, saying hello and goodbye in the same instant. I would have done as much for the woman who gave birth to me and the sister who shared my life.
So I say to my sister, don't be afraid. Yes, the water is dark this time of night, the waves tall, as if in a painting brushed by Hokusai, the water black as squid's ink, but let it be your cloak, let the black water and the night air, pregnant with rain, give you a new body, fragile as the dome of a moon jelly. How often we looked for lights out in the ocean, thinking they were spirit lights, messages from a veiled world we thought we could almost glimpse. My two hands release you so that you may find the light, a bone-colored dove who flies away from me, easily into the silence, sure of its path.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Answer My Prayer
I have been in a moderately difficult situation in my dance life, trying to figure out whether to leave a course of instruction and a teacher I've been working with for six years and moving on to another teacher in San Jose. This is NOT my troupe nor my wonderful teacher for Dancers of the Crescent Moon; we are going strong and learning amazing new things all the time. The situation I'm in is going to likely involve setting boundaries, saying no, and making the best decision I can, then sticking with it and taking the consequences.
I realize this is nothing compared to the immense pain and sorrow so many people are experiencing, so I am grateful I do not have to make life-affecting decisions right now. Still, leaving an intense course of instruction with someone you've worked with for many years is very sad and has affected me greatly. It is not easy to be nearly 50 and have to start over again, even though I have a huge amount of training and can likely move up in the new classes quickly.
Anyway, last night I was in, of all places, the Felton Safeway, having broken that very night with my other classes. I was feeling very down about it, not sure I had taken the right course, and so I prayed to my mother for a sign, any sign, to show me she was listening and that I was on the right path. Instantly--really, immediately after I breathed that prayer, my mother's favorite version of her favorite song, one she played over and over when I was a kid, came on over the loudspeakers. If you want to see what it was, click on this YouTube video:
I realize this is nothing compared to the immense pain and sorrow so many people are experiencing, so I am grateful I do not have to make life-affecting decisions right now. Still, leaving an intense course of instruction with someone you've worked with for many years is very sad and has affected me greatly. It is not easy to be nearly 50 and have to start over again, even though I have a huge amount of training and can likely move up in the new classes quickly.
Anyway, last night I was in, of all places, the Felton Safeway, having broken that very night with my other classes. I was feeling very down about it, not sure I had taken the right course, and so I prayed to my mother for a sign, any sign, to show me she was listening and that I was on the right path. Instantly--really, immediately after I breathed that prayer, my mother's favorite version of her favorite song, one she played over and over when I was a kid, came on over the loudspeakers. If you want to see what it was, click on this YouTube video:
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Living Life
Mr. Strega and I had the most wonderful walk tonight along West Cliff Drive, about 3 miles (slowly, as I have not been feeling well). It was an absolutely beautiful night and I remembered, again, how much I love living here.
I am extremely grateful to be in this time and place, even though the world is sotroubled and so many people are losing their livelihood. I really believe that positive changes are going to happen, though they will take time.
Some people have been emailing me about the agents and no, no one has responded yet. It does take time and I have to say, in the midst of gratitude, that it's a little stressful!
I am extremely grateful to be in this time and place, even though the world is sotroubled and so many people are losing their livelihood. I really believe that positive changes are going to happen, though they will take time.
Some people have been emailing me about the agents and no, no one has responded yet. It does take time and I have to say, in the midst of gratitude, that it's a little stressful!
Monday, February 02, 2009
Another Manuscript Request
An agent at InkWell Management in New York has asked to see the manuscript. This is request #4.
This is a great exercise in detachment for me! It's hard not to get excited about it, but I have too much work to do right now, teaching-wise, to get caught up in it.
Back to grading!
Think happy thoughts, y'all.
This is a great exercise in detachment for me! It's hard not to get excited about it, but I have too much work to do right now, teaching-wise, to get caught up in it.
Back to grading!
Think happy thoughts, y'all.
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