photo dream

Some mornings, I wake up early. So early that I feel like I really shouldn’t get up yet, even though I feel awake. So I drift back to sleep, and then wake up three hours later – later than I wish, groggy, confused, and slightly irritated.

Those are the mornings I have some of the strangest, most liminal dreams.

Yesterday morning was one of those times. In my dream, I was with a large group of people. Many of them were in business suits. As a group, we were almost motionless because we were waiting for someone to take our picture. I can still see it: a huge group of people, patiently waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Like we were already in a picture, but with tiny little waiting moments here and there: A shuffle. A shift. Twitching. A glance. Some laughter.

Some people had gone out for snacks and returned. Others had gotten there late, and slipped into the group wherever they could find a spot. At some point, someone asked how long we had been waiting. Someone else answered that it had been over an hour. People were getting tired.

And then my phone rang, and I woke up.

And as I had a somewhat groggy phone conversation, I was still mulling over that long sense of waiting. I felt like I had been waiting with that group from the time I had first woken several hours before until I woke up this second time.

And then I thought: perhaps the “photo” we were all waiting for was me waking up. When I woke up, the camera snapped, a flash went off, and everything leapt back into motion, in color. Alive.

I have heard that in dreams, the characters often are all various representations of ourselves. I’m not entirely sure I buy that, but I did think it might be an interesting idea with this dream.

Perhaps all my selves were waiting for “someone” to come take the photo. And all it took was for the photographer (also myself) to “wake up,” causing the photo to be taken, and life could move forward.

What if we’re all waiting around for some outside photographer to take our picture, and instead we just need to wake up?

Too obvious?

Snap!

This morning’s dream was about riding a bike.

Motion.

push ups

A friend and I were talking the other day about the winding road of being an artist.

“What are you working on these days?” is a common question we face. A possible (and typical, for me) answer:

“Um, well, I’m working on a lot of things… writing letters, and being a good human being, and knowing my community better, and making gifts for my friends, and listening to the people around me, and taking photographs, and listening to music, and applying for summer work, and grant proposals, and being happy. I’m working on all those things. And dancing more. And teaching. Oh, and also some theatre projects, a novella, some poems, a collage, and an idea for a dada-inspired vaudeville/cabaret. How about you?”

But a much simpler answer (the truly short elevator speech) might be:

“Push-ups.”

I could just say, “I’m working on push-ups.”

Which I am. It isn’t the focus of my life, but it’s at least partially true. And it has the nice benefit of working as both a literal and a metaphorical answer. I’m working on push-ups physically, and also in facing the events of my life – building strength, stamina, ease, productive resistance, and moving my body through space.

My friend suggested an alternative:

“Basil. I’m working on basil.”

I like that answer, too.

And you? What are you working on these days?

falling and emerging

1. Guilt

I wrote a Facebook update recently in which I raved about a lot of happy things in my life at that moment. And you know what I felt after posting it? Guilt.

I felt guilty that I was in a good place, knowing that not everyone is, knowing that some people are very unhappy. And politically, socially, economically, there is so much that is wrong with the world. “Who am I to be happy?” I felt myself asking. “And if I am, I shouldn’t tell everyone about it!”

As I read down my friends’ status updates, several of them seemed to be having terrible days – the worst. And suddenly, I wanted to take mine down, and retract what I was saying. Amend it with, “Well, of course there are these issues/problems/challenges in my life. Don’t worry, I’m struggling too!”

Today, a friend posted a quote that felt like a response to my initial guilt:

“There is nothing wrong with loving the crap out of everything….Never apologize for your enthusiasm. Never. Never. Never.” (Ryan Adams)

A deep part of me believes that experiencing joy is a large part of why we are here. So why are we sometimes so afraid to embrace it?

2. Falling

Last week, I stood for a while on a sunny downtown bridge, watching people and water and boats. I could have stood there for hours. Children waved to me from school tours on the boats going under the bridge. A woman called out to a boy from the bottom of a boat to the top, where he was giggling with his friends. A man standing next to me on the bridge watched the same things I was watching, barely moving, a slight smile on his lips. Couples walked by holding hands; friends walked by chattering. A woman on her way to an interview asked me to check her hair.

Small, shared moments.

And the water, and the sun, and the sky. It was all so beautiful.

As I stood there, I wondered if anyone had ever jumped off of this bridge. And if so, why did they do it? It isn’t as high as the Golden Gate, unfortunately known as a destination for the depressed. And, conversely, the river doesn’t exactly look inviting or refreshing. It would be a quick jump and a long sink into uncomfortable waters. But perhaps someone has done it.

Why was I wondering about people jumping off the bridge? I’m not sure exactly – my mind wanders in odd patterns sometimes. But I remembered a hot day in Oregon several years ago, when I jumped from a tall cliff into the clear and icy cold waters of Crater Lake (the deepest, clearest lake I’ve ever seen).

That day, that experience, has stayed with me for years. It has inspired, for me, at least one performance, some poems, and some attempts at artwork. It was such a freeing experience, to step off of that cliff and fall, and fall, and fall – longer than I had ever fallen anywhere, and to feel the water enclose me, then rise up refreshed and excited to do it again. There was nothing like it.

And I wonder: How is falling related to joy? Is our fear of one related to our fear of the other?

We instinctively fear falling; and I’ve long thought we fear certain forms of joy – such as “falling” in love (falling apart?) – for similar reasons. Besides, happiness (like falling) isn’t very dignified.

And yet, falling can feel so good. A release. An acceptance. Surrender. Enthusiasm.

3. Emerging

As I was cleaning out some files yesterday, I came across a note I wrote to myself a few years ago towards the end of a long, hard winter. It seems relevant today, now, with these thoughts of falling, and joy, and making space in my life. Here it is:

I see the day coming when I can emerge again. I look forward to stepping out, still wet around the wings, into the dew that has just arrived post-winter, everything damp, wet, growing, earthy, light.

I am moving through the last of the tunnel of winter, airplanes, negotiating critique with kindness, and too many hours spent in dry, dull meetings. I have been sprinting through this marathon, and I am tired.

What will happen when I cross the finish line? Will I collapse? Party? Drink a big glass of water? Throw up? Pick up my belongings and head down to the local sandwich shop to meet friends as if nothing had happened?

I see an opening. I see myself at my big sunny worktable, writing. And maybe letting myself walk and dance and meet my friends round the corner for coffee. Life will slow down and open wide, all at the same time.

Can I be still then? Can I be patient, not force anything, look around and see what’s good?

And then I gave myself some advice:

Wander a bit, ‘chelle. Wander in the woods and get lost. Enjoy being lost. Enjoy the space that gives you. Travel. Make beautiful and difficult theatre. Write things that wake people up. Teach people to be in their bodies. Remind everyone around you of their individual beauty. Give yourself all the things you wish for the ones you love. Go on an adventure. You have lots of time, ‘chelle. It’s your time. Be selfish with it.

And so I have. And so I am. Or at least, I keep trying.

Several years later, and here I am again, having jumped, having fallen, having emerged, in multiple areas of my life… continually climbing back up to the top of that cliff after each jump, and doing it all again – falling and emerging, falling and emerging – with enthusiasm and yes, even joy.

in the midst of it all

Sometimes life is so beautiful and discouraging and surprising and confusing and hopeful and intriguing and even mundane,

and it sends you sickness and health and laughter and loss and bills and errands and journeys and questions and people that can’t be shelved right at the moment.

And you need to immerse yourself in everything that is right in front of you

because it’s there

because the moments are passing

because life says, “Let’s wrestle!” and so you do.

And in those times, blog posts – and even Facebook updates – are rare and slow in coming.

But it isn’t because there is nothing to say; it’s because there is so much, and you just have to live in it for a while until the words come.

I will be back at this more regularly very soon. I promise.

dreaming big

I want to be a superhero.

There. I said it.

I’ve created two theatre shows based on this desire, and I know that part of it is that I just like wearing the boots, swinging around on ropes/scaffolding, and startling everyone with my voice coming out of nowhere, or a fake gun that I’m not going to use. I mean, really, who doesn’t like those things?

Okay, so in one of those shows, I was a superhero who was torn between wanting to save the world and wanting to serve the world.

And in the other, I was a superhero who didn’t really want to be a superhero. She really just wanted everyone to leave her in peace so she could focus on being a punk rock star. In that one I had almost as much fun playing her twin sister, the supposedly evil villain.

Obviously, I have some ambivalence around the whole issue of being a hero.

But that doesn’t negate the fact that I like swooping in and saving people, at least in my fantasies.

Problem is, people don’t always want to be saved. And it’s pretty egotistical of me to think that a) that’s what they want, and b) I’m the one to do it.

On the other hand, large dreams propel us forward and energize us.

I’ve been toying with ideas for another show that explores these themes of rocking out while also saving the world – along with a complementary/conflicting desire to be useful (more on that topic in a future post). Perhaps these dreams are best played out on a stage, in good fun.

For now, here’s to large dreams. And saving the world, at least in those dreams.

And boots. Boots make anything seem possible.

spring break is over

You spend your days seeing good art and watching butterflies float in the rafters, then land on leaves.

You spend your quarters on juke box songs and pool games; a few dollars on bourbon.

You hear the inspirational words of a theatre artist and wonder about Sierra Leone.

You hear the beautiful music of friends and, smiling at their charm and talent, leap to your feet with the rest of the crowd when they say they are done, keeping your fingers crossed that they don’t mean it.

You visit your past. You dream about your future.

You (almost) fix your computer in seven small steps,
and clear your desk
(mostly)
(finally).

You wander museums and the neighborhood between where you find yourself one afternoon, and where you need to go. A neighborhood you’ve never been in, you find so much.

You pull out the novel you wrote three years ago and start editing.

You dance – just a bit.

One night you go to bed at 3am; you fall asleep at 10:30 the next.

One day you sleep until almost 10, and find yourself up at 5:30 on another,
and so you write while looking out at the sunny morning,
curled up in a blanket, drinking tea,
remembering that this is one of your favorite things to do.

You eat, you cook,
you edit your resume,
you clean your house.

And one day, you wake up and these days are in the past.

Spring break is over,
and you move into a new kind of day.
A transition day of glazed eyes staring at you from behind small desks,
eyes that wonder if they are really back,
the bodies of these eyes shivering
and counting the days until May.

Shivering with them,
in sympathy,
you teach the lesson.

Later, on the way to the train station, remembering this daily schedule, this daily walk,
as if from a million years ago and hardly a minute ago,
you hear a boy ask if you’d like to buy some chocolate.

You smile and say, “Not today, thank you,” and he smiles back.

And you wonder if that,
just that (his offer, your smile),
is enough.

At least for today.

hope might be a rock, but not the kind you think

Hope is my downfall. A bad habit. A familiar addiction.

Earlier today I found myself, as I sometimes do, lost in a cycle of checking and rechecking email, Facebook and various news sites.

“What is my problem?” I kept wondering. “What is keeping me stuck in this unproductive, de-energizing, anti-inspirational, brain-numbing nonsense?”

From talking to friends, I get the sense I may not be alone in this habit. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

And then it struck me.

The culprit is Hope.

Hope is what kept me returning to the various websites – hope that I would find a response to a message I had sent, or a new delightful video that would energize me to continue my work, or an intriguing bit of news connecting me to the rest of the world. Hoping and hoping that something fascinating would break the monotony of the Things I Have To Do But Am Trying To Avoid.

The same thing can happen in other areas of my life, too. I have hope for something – a dream, an ambition, or an as-yet-unrealized potentiality. But sometimes, rather than moving me forward, my hopefulness actually keeps me stuck. I wait and hope, rather than take action.

Hope is useful when it keeps us motivated in pursuing the things we want. It can be a strong energizing force when we’re feeling discouraged. But if we’re too focused on some imagined, potential future, we can miss what is happening right now, this moment, today.

Hope might be “the thing with feathers,” but it can also be the rock tied round my neck if I’m not careful.

Sometimes you have to ditch the hope, let the emails and news cycles (and the rest of life) do their thing, roll up your sleeves, and just start doing stuff.

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P.S. Metaphors I considered for this post but did not use because, well, really, they were a stretch:

• A boulder on a hiking trail (possibly invisible? or at least hidden)
• A rare bird outside a window in a house filled with treasures
• Winding hallways
• Chocolate
• Money
• Butterflies
• An altar

***Prize given to anyone who can figure out how I was trying to stretch and mangle these things to fit what I was trying to say. Bonus points for creativity.***