“I am the joy in change and movement.” – Steve’s statement of identity from a Transformations School of Spiritual Psychology exercise.
I have always loved dancing, although I don’t always love change and movement in other areas of my life. My problem as a dancer has always been that I’m too cerebral and not as intuitive and fluid as I’d like to be, especially when learning someone else’s choreography. When I “freestyle”, I think I do better. It has to do with allowing yourself to open up and be unconcerned whether you’re “doing it right”, to just go with the flow of feeling and response. It feels fabulous to let myself move to music! I get a great sense of my biology and my emotions – and it gives my brain a much needed rest!
So what images come to mind when thinking of movement and freedom?
Water, clouds, wind, birds and bodies.
May you move joyfully through your day today, and thanks for your visit!
What’s the difference between capturing a moment and just taking a blurry photo? I struggle with this…and in that struggle, I suppose, is where Art is born. There is one photographer whose blog I follow who has elevated the art of photographing motion to an exquisite level. Her name is Karen McRae, and her blog is draw and shoot. You should check out her stuff. It’s no wonder she has 12,000 followers.
So what have I got? Well, there’s low light and people who can’t stay still. Like my daughter at an outdoor evening concert, talking with her hands.
A moment of scintillating storytelling, or just another blurry photo? You decide. There’s the moment of movement in falling water…but it’s way overdone, probably.
And the actual “OMG! I have to get my camera out because THIS is happening!”
And it’s barely recognizable, and you hope you can adjust your settings and try again before your surprisingly swift subject disappears into some shelter off the trail. Here goes:
Yes! That’s what it is, clearly, right there on the path in New Mexico. A tarantula. Now, do I feel better that I’ve “nailed it down”, so to speak? Or do I more enjoy the breathless, life-is-a-dynamic-thing, fuzzy ’round the edges illustration? I have this debate with myself. I believe in the dynamic; I habitually strive toward the “perfection”. Maybe this is the struggle that will someday birth some Art from me.
In the Christian Church calendar, today is the sixth day of Advent and St. Nicholas Day. In my Advent countdown, today is the day to celebrate the gift of Movement. We live on a moving planet. Impermanence surrounds us in increments from nanoseconds to evolutionary ages. Steve’s revelatory phrase about his identity is “I am the joy in change and movement.” If this is reality, why fight it? I am re-blogging a post from two years ago that illustrates the grace and artistry and discipline of movement – ballet. Watching movement can be magical and mesmerizing and put us into a “dream mind.” But waking up to the present moment puts movement back into the realm of consciousness. Our hearts are beating, our lungs are breathing, we pulse and move and live. It’s not a miracle, but it sure is something to celebrate!
Last night we went to see the Bolshoi production of Sleeping Beauty on the cinema screen. The newly restored Moscow theater features gilded woodwork and royal red upholstery, a royal box and no “cheap” balcony seats. It is Old World magnificence and romance in itself. Add Tchaikovsky’s lush orchestral score (which includes not one, but two harps!) and the lavish beaded, satin costumes and tutus of classic ballet and you have a Spectacle of epic proportion. We sat in the 5th row and felt like we were actually on the proscenium during the close up camera shots. It was breath-taking. Princess Aurora showcases all her most difficult moves in Act I at her 16th birthday party, partnered by 4 elaborately dressed foreign suitors. Cymbals accentuate each technically challenging pose, and she becomes the prima ballerina superstar of all my girlhood dreams. Suddenly, I am 10 years old and sitting next to my father at the Auditorium Theater in Chicago. The ballet is so beautiful and I am so lucky and so loved and I miss my dad so much that I can’t hold back the tears. My heart is too full.
My dad proudly attended to the cultural education of his 4 charming daughters. We had classes at the Art Institute and ballet lessons at a studio on Michigan Avenue every Saturday. He had season tickets to the ballet for the whole family and to the opera for my mother. I was absolutely stage-struck as a kid and couldn’t resist trying on poses and gestures in the lobby during intermissions. I was the youngest of his daughters and probably tried the hardest to please him. I suppose I felt like a princess in many ways. I counted on my father’s kingly protection and generosity. I sometimes slept through life, waiting for Prince Charming to appear and carry me off to a dream of happiness. I met my prince when I was 15, married him when I was 21, and almost lived the whole freakin’ fairy tale. But no, I lived a real life. And I’m glad of it.
I found out that grace takes a lot of hard work, that fathers are imperfect people, and that love is stronger than death and more powerful than beauty. And it also requires a lot of hard work. Discipline and commitment can be more lovely than romance. Facing reality is more invigorating than dreaming. Pinch me when the spectacle seems overwhelming; I want to know I’m alive.
And David Hallberg is my new fascination. Not only is he a supremely graceful human being, he blogs, too. Yup, he’s real.