Time Flies: Be Here Now! (HuffPo Comment)

"Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so." -- Douglas Adams

Even as a 9-year-old kid, I felt time was subjective­, and would often think, "What I'm experienci­ng now will be the distant past in what will feel like the blink of an eye" (gives you an idea of what kind of kid I was... :-P ).

Yet, waiting for a delayed train is a nearly unbearable agony to me; I'm drawn up from my book and need to stare down the dark tunnel until the moment a hint of light hits the track. (Then, of course, I can relax and enjoy the book.)

Last year, I read an NPR article called "How to Live Forever" which made a facetious case for trying new things to make time "last longer": Once you are expert at a thing, you can do it automatica­lly, which makes time pass more quickly. The discomfort of trying new things slows you down and makes time drag.

I addressed this in my own blog http://t.c­o/SATuByOt finding that depth and richness of each moment, when one is passionate about one's activity, can create the best of both worlds -- time seems to evaporate in the endeavor, and yet it feels like one has lived through a transforma­tive age in its accomplish­ment.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

Sleepless -- But Not Dreamless -- in Glasco

This weekend I went upstate to a convent in a tiny town called Glasco, about two hours north of NYC, to do some dream work.

I've been going up here for over ten years, about once or twice a year, on Dream Analysis Retreats. We -- usually a group of four to seven women of a wide range of ages and life experience -- relate and discuss our dreams in Jungian terms.

Dream work is an extremely important part of Jungian analysis, and is one of the surest indicators of healing and growth. After all, your dreams don't lie, so if you believe you have processed some recurring problem or complex, yet the dream symbolizing it continues, then you know pretty well that your psyche is screaming at you that you are not as far along as you'd like to believe.

Likewise, you know you are healing if the dream transforms....

For example, for many years I had a recurring dream about being chased by the Evil Man. I'd lock myself in a room, yet the door wouldn't close, or the lock would be broken, or the door would mysteriously shrink and he would burst right through to attack me.

So what does this symbolize?

For much of my life my thinking (masculine) and feeling (feminine) selves have been at war, and usually the masculine has won out -- as I have talked and rationalized myself into allowing far too many situations that have ultimately harmed me.

Strange as it may sound, it is the strength of the feminine that is required in such situations -- the wisdom that just knows when a thing is wrong, and that knows and cherishes our value just for being ourselves. It is not rational and requires no justification; it simply loves and nourishes. One need never be good enough for it.

Now, as warm and fuzzy as this sounds, if we live only in this feminine womb-scape we would never grow, develop autonomy, or strive towards our dearest dreams and powerful fulfillment. We would never know what we are. So separation, judgment, criticism is necessary -- but without the feminine to softly protect and care for us, the masculine just runs roughshod over us.

Which is how things have been through much of my achingly self-critical life.

As this dream persisted, my therapist would encourage me to talk to the attacker. A crazy idea I thought, and yet in a dream around 2004 (coincidentally, when I started bellydancing) I successfully locked the door against this animus figure, only to decide to open it and talk to him. Far from the insane marauder I expected, he shriveled into a lanky milquetoast who could barely get a word out.

One of the dreams I related this past weekend involved this figure -- but this time, he was a serial killer locked in the bathroom of my childhood home. In the dream, we call the police (psychical reinforcements) to bring him out, but he won't come out. The cops tell me to call his name -- but I can't remember it, which surprises my mother because "he has been living with us for so long."

So, clearly this problem persists in me -- but it has changed. He is no longer attacking; he has now reverted to pure vulnerable boyish silence. Seems he is more scared of me than I am of him. And perhaps he is not so happy with me for forgetting his name...

So that was the realization I had during the first evening of the Dream Retreat, and went to bed pondering it -- unable to think of anything else, actually.

I started to drift off around midnight, hoping to get up around 7:30 and go running along the beautiful trail up there.

But barely an hour later, a frenzied thumping, knocking, banging slammed me awake. And I had forgotten my earplugs!

And this continued through the night: I'd start to sleep for maybe a half-hour, and then -- WHAM, SLAM, BOOM!!

Around 4am I crawled out to the fire escape to see if I could figure out what was causing this...  I knew the nuns had been having some work done. Was there a tarp on the roof? Some loose cord, cable, rope? (Something I could use to hang myself maybe?!?!)

As the sleepless, dreamless Night of Misery continued, I bargained:  I'd turn off my alarm. If I missed the morning session, then so be it. But if I was still awake when the sky got light, then I'd go out running, no matter how miserable I felt.

The latter won out.

As the sun bleached its way through the venetian blinds, I was a knot of restless anguish -- all the more miserable because I did not have a dream to share. But I dragged myself up anyway and got dressed around 7am.

I'd be OK, I told myself (but I brought my mobile just in case...)

The day was absolutely stunning. A bit frosty, but no longer windy. On auto-pilot, I chugged up the gravel road towards the labyrinth about a mile away. I made a left onto a paved road and hoofed down to the town's main drag, Route 32.

Starting to feel a bit better, I finally came to my second-favorite part of the run: A tight little enclave of McMansions along Joseph's Drive with streets named Canterbury Drive, Lancelot Drive and Camelot Court.

Usually I go straight through on Joseph's, which takes me right back to the convent. But suddenly I was feeling better -- much better -- better than I had in weeks, actually. And those street names were just so darned charming!

So I took a left on Canterbury, figuring it would loop me straight back to Joseph's, but instead I ended up on Lancelot which twisted around, leaving me completely disoriented.

I pulled out my Android, figuring Google Maps would get me out of this. No such luck.

I ran back a few houses, then returned to where Lancelot had left me. I saw a single green street sign to my right. I ran up to it.

And this is what I saw.



"You do realize, don't you, that this sounds like a very interesting dream?" a good friend observed as I related the story some time later.

Yes, indeed it was....

It had all the elements:  Misery, anguish, running, joy, bliss, being lost (and lost among such mythically resplendent names!) -- and finding my way -- yes MY way, at a time -- and in a "way" -- that I had least expected.

Take a Stand! (HuffPo Comment)

Beautiful post, Mama Donna.

I was moved to hear Naomi Klein on Brian Lehrer this morning. http://www­.wnyc.org/­articles/i­ts-free-co­untry/2011­/oct/06/na­omi-klein-­occupy-wal­l-street/

She said that the image that moved her to leave her home in Canada and hurry to Wall Street was that of a young woman holding a sign that read, simply, "I care about you."

The most important truth of this moment is that we're in this together: Greed got us into this mess; only compassion can get us out.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

Dreaming of 9-11 -- BEFORE the Event

Ten years ago I had the following dream:  Terrorists have blown a huge hole in my office/apartment building; an apocalypse has hit Manhattan, which is covered in a layer of dust. Power is down and I must confront the terrorists alone. 

What is weird about this is that I had the dream on September 6, 2001. What is stranger still is that I wrote the dream down on a scrap of paper which I had misplaced until September 10th. And so, that Monday night, I stayed late in my office typing it up.

In his Sense of Being Stared At, Rupert Sheldrake relates several similar experiences -- during the five days before the attacks, Manhattanites had prescient dreams or other premonitions, most involving planes, buildings  and/or terrorists. And in most cases these dreams were not typical of the dreamer.

"Oh, I bet New Yorkers have nightmares about dust and skyscrapers all the time!" scoffed my hyper-rational cousin. And they may -- but I don't. And I know this because I have been writing down my dreams since 1996. 

A quick word search reveals that this was the only dream of its kind that I have had in the past 15 years, which puts it out of the realm of statistical coincidence and squarely into The Twilight Zone.

In his book, Sheldrake describes "a kind of collective unconscious that allows members of a species to draw from, and contribute to, the collective memory of the species." 

But does how could this apply to future events? 

Well... I haven't the foggiest, other than to consider more strongly that there are, indeed, more things in heaven and earth -- and perhaps those things like to reach us through our dreams.

But you tell me... Submitted for your approval is my 9/6/01 dream, complete with action movie heroics at the end. 

Oh, I am such a product of my culture....

I’m in a post-apocalyptic Manhattan – the Earth’s atmosphere is completely covered in choking dust. (There is also something about a probe that was sent into the deeper reaches of the Milky Way which will soon return bringing either information or more destruction.)  

I go into a one-room apartment in a high-rise (possibly mine), though it seems more like an office building. Scott  is sleeping on the bed. He is remarkably blasé about the state of the world. There is a lot of dust in the room as well, so he suggests that I turn on the air conditioner to clear it out. I am dubious at first, thinking that the air conditioner couldn’t possibly work because teh power is down, but it does.  

As the dust clears, I look out the window and see many office buildings with quite a few lights on. How can there be electricity? I thought there was practically no one left… Are the generators still running? I figure that I should just stop questioning and use the electricity while we still have it. 

A very attractive young man enters the apartment.. The three of us go to the lobby of the building where many other survivors are gathered. Panamanian terrorists have blasted a giant hole in the lobby and are announcing that in this “new world” they are claiming America (and hence New York and all the buildings in it) as a territory of Panama. They have not yet seen me, so I slink up a staircase to an inner balcony overlooking the atrium.  

A little ways in I find an unmade bed and a female friend crouched beside it. The terrorists announce that they are going to tear-gas us out. I realize that even though gas is everywhere it’s not affecting me. Puffed up with my apparent superhuman abilities, I go down to the lobby and tell the terrorists to get lost. They turn their weapons on us and, in true superhuman form, I telekinetically rip their weapons away from them, condense them in a ball above their heads, and then smash the ball into the left wall of the room. Then I blow the terrorists backwards, which sends them out of the building screaming.

Gathering Storms and Other Stuff I've Been Up to This Crazy Summer

Last blog entry June 2nd.

If I were a starship captain, I'd be fired for dereliction of duty.

How do frequent bloggers do it? I find it so difficult just to get done what I need to get done... and then to find time to write about it when what I crave is a brain-break of Big Bang Theory and a bottle of beer. Usually I opt for the brain-break.

But, in a nutshell, here is what I've been up to these past 12-or-so weeks:

JUNE:

The first weekend of June, I took Tamalyn Dallal's teacher's training workshop and emcee'd the showcase for it (indeed, the last event I listed on my calendar).

Then, having graduated from the PIT's fifth and final improv level, I signed up for two new PIT electives:  Jen Nails' "Do-It-Yourself" Solo Show Workshop, and Alex Zalben's Level 1 Intro to Sketch Writing. Both of these had very nice showcases in early August which I completely failed to mention on my calendar here, but to which people showed up anyway.

But that is August, and I am still in June.

As it happened, I missed the second of both of these courses because I spent a glorious week in Santa Fe at Dunya's Dancemeditation (aka Summer Movement Monastery) retreat at the blissfully restful Synergia Ranch.

And I saw a couple of awesome snakes:



I took a bunch of pictures with my Android which should be visible to the public here through my Facebook photo album.

I actually started a blog entry when I was there, describing the place, the people, blah blah blah, but I never finished it and it is still sitting unpublished in Draft mode along with a half-dozen pieces I did about the production of PURE Reflections in Japan last year.
 
And I took an awesome six-week Shakespeare Intensive with the Royal Shakespeare Company's indomitable Lisa Harrow.  (That's her standing in front of me ... regal and beautiful as ever.)



We did sonnets, soliloquies and scenes. A triple-S threat.

I returned to NYC in late June to learn we had lost a warm friend and dear human being, Adam Hocherman:



JULY:

I danced at Kamasutra Lounge with the Rising Sirens, and took and passed the SharQui instructor training workshop.

I joined Altagracia's Caribbean Roses for a gorgeous Flamenco-bellydance number at Lafayette Grill, and debuted two stunning feather boa fans that I inherited from the ravishing Hannah Nour.

Now all I need is to get my group fitness certification... Not so easy! I shelled out nearly $600 for the materials, but have I had time to study... nooooo!! And why? 

Two little words:  PURE Reflections.



(This incidentally, is the excellent promo video Lale's husband Kenji put together from his footage from the Japan show. It was created to compete for a $25,000 in the Pepsi Refresh Everything contest, but there were just not enough bottle caps for us... Maybe next month... but I digress...)

We had been asked to mount a production in Taiwan in September -- but we had not worked on the show at all since the Japan production in late November.

Now, bear in mind, when we do PURE Reflections, we are not simply bringing a show to a new venue; we are recreating the entire thing with a whole new set of dancers. So I was absolutely not going to let us present material to a group of women who had sacrificed a week of their time for this project without having it fresh in our bodies and minds.

Also, when we normally produce the show, it is with a cast of 25 or more, to give as many dancers as possible the opportunity to be a part of the production, as well as the soul-searching workshops and rehearsal process. But this time we decided to scale it down to only seven people, to see if the show even could accommodate a smaller space and tighter budget

But even with the smaller cast, scheduling was a bitch.

Key dancers like Kaeshi, Pacita and B were frequently travelling. We had one rehearsal with the entire cast in mid-July and did not have the full cast again until two days before the show.

But I've directed so many plays in similar circumstances, so I knew it could be done.

Two amazing PURE members, Liz and Catherine, stepped up and understudied for whomever was not at rehearsal.

And that brings us to...

AUGUST:

I taught some dance at Greehouse and finger cymbals for Bellyqueen (interesting that I am the only Bellyqueen teacher who is not and will never be a Bellyqueen member... but I have barely enough time to keep up with the Sirens choreography, so maybe being a professional troupe member is not in the cards for me... Ah well...)

I took an improv intensive with the Groundlings' Gary Austin.

But mostly I focused on PURE Reflections.

And we did it!!

The show came together in so many surprising and beautiful ways. Marius Shanzer took some lovely photographs, an Amy and Kenji took footage -- so you'll see some of that when it's ready.

And then there was the Hurricane. Epic destruction not withstanding, I have to say I was kind of glad to have had the weekend off.

And now...  I need to prepare for September!

Bringing the show to Taiwan is going to be a whole 'nuther ball of crazy wax. And I can't wait!

Mr. Doodle and the Creeps

Numbly trudging home last night with over 50 pounds of groceries hanging off my body in various packs, slings and totes, with aching feet and groaning shoulders, I found myself walking alongside a young man munching his way through a bag of chips.

I was barely aware of him for over half of the long block before my building when he said, "I'd offer you a Dipsy Doodle but you don't look like you're in the mood."

As with most women in the city, my first impulse was to cross the street and get away from this creep.

In the past, I've spat, screamed and hissed at men who have approached me on the street. "Who the FUCK do they think they are?!?" I rage and boil.

But then I realized that there was, in fact, nothing creepy, leery or even weird in this particular man's tone. If anything, it was a little shy -- rough and good natured.

Plus his remark was about my mood, and did not strike me as being slimy or patronizing.

Creeps -- inasmuch as they ever notice a woman's mood -- say things like, "Hey baby, I got something to cheer you up."

But that was not this guy.

I laughed and turned to him; he grinned and shrugged sheepishly, raising the bag towards me.

"You know," I chirped, "I am in the mood!"

I reached in and pulled out his last Doodle.

"Have a good night!" he smiled, turned a corner and went on his merry way.

So -- for all the guys who think it's OK to say whatever they want to women on the street -- I began to think, what made this guy's actions not creepy?

In most cases, those exact same words in that exact same situation could have been very creepy indeed. I think part of what disarmed me was that I had come up behind him while he was walking, and not the other way around.

But mostly it was his tone. It was simply not the tone of a creep.

Creeps view any and all attractive women as potential sperm receptacles and little more. They have no more concern or ability to consider a woman's point of view than they would to consider the point of view of candy bar.

In the creep mind, women are there to be consumed.

If a woman tells a creep she isn't interested, this means nothing to the creep brain. If she says she has a cop/boxer/football player boyfriend, then this will usually (though not always) make a dent in him.

To the creep mind (and this is the most generous definition of the word "mind") only the presence of another male possessor can deter his "right" to whatever woman he wants.

Any action of the woman, up to and possibly including bashing him with a soup can, is seen as a come-on. (Once a Ruskie creep asked me for directions while I was pulling gristle out of my teeth. "What is zis sing you are doing wis your tongue???" he slathered. I wish I had puked on him.)

Anyway.

None of that was present with Mr. Doodle.

Granted, he might not have felt the liberty or desire to say something to another man walking down the street, similarly burdened and sad.

But I don't think it's completely wrong for men to speak to women on the street, or for there to be a hint of flirtation about it, especially if their approach does not assume anything.

And Mr. Doodle didn't.

He was just a nice guy who saw a woman in the dumps and wanted to make her laugh.

And it made me sad to think how close I came to shooting him down -- but doubly glad that I didn't.

Ask A Silly Question....

Brilliant playwright and fellow blogger, Don Cummings, posted a semi-facetious list of questions in his thought-provoking blog, Open Trench.

I planned only to comment on a few, but true to form, once I get rolling on an idea, I just can't stop myself...

So here are my semi-serious answers. Enjoy!

Why do so many people loathe the idea of a strong benevolent Socialist government but gladly work for feudal modeled corporations that enslave them?

Two words: Parent Issues. I think many people equate Big Government with an over-powerful, irrational parent, and see corrupt corporations as The Bully Down the Block. They tell themselves that someone will take down the bully (e.g. the self-regulating free market) without realizing that the bully's bully will be even worse to contend with than a misguided but well-meaning parent.

Unfortunately, the parent (and the government) carries a whopping load of archetypal energy, which undermines the child/citizen from inside as well as outside. And so people fear that more. Even when reminded that government can be voted out of power here, they'll say that the "next guy" will be just as bad because all politicians are the same (corrupt -- like corporations aren't), and blah blah blah.  In the end, they just need to grow the fuck up.

Why do people in the Midwest continue to deny climate change while their cities and lives are being flattened?

Never underestimate the power of denial -- especially when one's "way of life" (i.e. creature comforts) is at stake. They'd rather ascribe home-flattening gale forces to a misplaced butterfly than to their dependence on fossil fuels.

Why is everything loaded with garlic?

Garlic is tasty and good for you and adds zazz to mundane meals, but you're right it can definitely be overdone. I think American taste buds are overstimulated with salt and sugar, so over-garlicking is probably an answer to that.

Why is it totally cool to have millions of dollars and then want millions more while others cheer you on to obtain it?

The cheerers are living vicariously through the money-whores, fantasizing perhaps that one day they will become like the objects of their obsession. (I wonder if that applies to stalkers, too...)

Why can’t I take a high speed train all across the continental United States in fifteen hours?

What? You want efficient, well funded rail in America? What are you, a socialist???

Why do people continue to buy horrible cheap shit that makes them fat and sick?

For the same reason they drink too much Bud, do drugs and watch too much TV. It's cheap, easy and adequately anesthetizing.

Why do people think they should have something for nothing?

Similar to the Government question:  Parent issues. Or more specifically, Mother issues. People who are not yet grown up -- possibly because they did not adequately have their needs met, or whose overbearing parents kept them dependent so that said parents would feel needed/useful to their growing children, and therefore never learned to (1) discern their real needs, and (2) tend to those needs themselves -- expect the world to be one big fat teat for them to suck on.

Why are so many people flaming out publicly?

This dovetails the something-for-nothing dynamic, I think. Unearned success (for 15 minutes anyway) is essentially meaningless. They don't know how they got it, they don't know how to keep it. And, far be it from me to ascribe depth where there is likely none, but perhaps some deeper level of them is viscerally unhappy and unsatisfied with it.

The desire for unearned success reminds me of  Marion Woodman's caution for our age: "They crave food that brings them no nurturance, drink that brihngs them no spirit, sex that brings them no union. Because their culture worships matter and minimizes soul, they concretize metaphor and literalize life."

And so they push boundaries, in the same way a two-year-old kicks against its parent. Unfortunately, the public is no forgiving parent, and eviscerates the foolish famous.  Or they eviscerate themselves because they just can't help it....

Why do we get old, the whole time pretending we are young?

We want the world to continue believing we are young, because there is no respectable, appreciated place for age in our culture. Despicably sad.

Why don’t I own a Havanese?

Because, deep, deep down, what you really want is an even-tempered rescued mixed-breed pooch.

Why do I continue to run the air conditioner when I know this is slowly eating up all the mountain tops in West Virginia?

Because in the end, even those of us with functioning consciences believe at least a little in the Butterfly Effect over the effect of our own environmental footprints.

Why do men from New Jersey wear clunky pinky rings?

A little bling for the ba-da-bing!! New Jersey guys want to be the Situation. And the Situation just wants to be Joe Pesci.

Why is competition absolutely everything?

It isn't, but for many of us in an ego-based culture, it is because it has to be. But again, this has to do with growing up (or failing to grow up).

The two chief ways we come to know who we are and what we are capable are external -- comparison and contrast -- what am I like and what am I not like. What am I connected to, what am I disconnected from. And what am I better than, and what is better than me. As we grow, hopefully, we come to appreciate our unique complexity, which tempers that kind of comparison with more internally-based knowledge of oneself.

Why is it that even though I would like an economy based on compassion, I somehow understand that this is impossible? Is it because I have been brainwashed?

It's not impossible. There is evidence of it all around us (look at the outpouring of help for Japan and the south). We are capable of compassion; we just need to learn that compassion for others is not necessarily in conflict with self-interest.

Why did I always try to impress people when, really, everyone was already so upset about themselves that all great deeds just made them feel even worse?

You don't know that impressing them made them feel worse about themselves. Most likely, you intended to make them want you more; by showing what you were capable of, you are increasing your value to them -- especially if it is done through friendship. You are basically saying, "See this cool thing I can do? Well, even if you can't do it, you can connect to it just by being friends with me."

I know it doesn't make much sense, logically, but people really do work that way... And a lot of people prefer reflected glory, anyway.

Why is there MRSA at all?

Survival of the most mutable applies in particular to bacteria.

Why is the sun still here?

Depends on what you mean by "here"? It really isn't here at all; it's 93 million miles away. Which is a good thing.

Why are we all alive right now and not at the point of true extinction?

Maybe some ruminating dinosaur asked that just before the asteroid hit.... :-)

Truly, though, we are nowhere near extinction. We are just in an extended teenage phase. Asking why we are still here is like asking why your sister's teenaged son hasn't killed himself in a wheels-and-booze related incident. He may. But he probably won't. And neither will we.

Why are people having all these late life babies that might have had better brains if they had had them twenty years ago?

Babies born to older parents may have "less better" brains (though there is plenty of research demonstrating the opposite), but older babymakers are almost always better, wiser parents. So maybe the kids have "worse" brains, but they will get far more mileage out of the brains they have.

Why is rice pudding so tasty and empty?

It isn't empty!! It's filled with rice! And pudding!!

Why do we look better when we are thin?

Tell that to Paul Rubens. Skinniness is ugly to me; healthiness and comfort in one's body is beautiful, no matter the body weight.

Why do I own such horrible headphones, taken from the back pouch of an American Airlines seat?

Cheap, convenient, and clearly you are content enough with them that you don't care to replace them yet.

Why are clams so tasty in the same way in absolute value uniqueness that cashews are?

Not sure. I prefer oysters to clams and Brazil nuts to cashews in both absolute value and uniqueness.

Why do things change so quickly and then we are so quick to make fun of how things just were? Is this part of the fear of time-death thing?

Yes.

Why do I care?

Enquiring minds want to know......