When I took those dance workshops at Bambudanza in Madrid back in July, each two-hour class was conducted entirely in Spanish. Here’s the funny thing, I don’t speak Spanish.Read More
I will fully admit that not only do I judge books by their covers, but I often judge a book by its title as well. Something with an intriguing, poetic or punchy title will always get my attention, but whether or not it can hold it is the real test. Everything about Madness, Rack, and Honey, by the poet Mary Ruefle, drew me in immediately. The title that conjures up vivid images and textures, the bold font, the way madness runs off of the front cover. And the interior? It was not a let down in the slightest.Read More
Some Poetry for Dawn. Wake up just a notch earlier on the clock, and the mist in the distant hills will tell you what you’ve been missing. Lavender light spanning the spectrum of sky until it becomes orange and bright. Birds feeding on the terrace ledge, fighting for bread kernels you left out the night before.
The self-given gift of slowly moving limbs, stretching and creaking awake, instead of flailing in a rush out the door. And quiet. Think of the quiet you’ve been missing.
I am writing less than I normally do today, because this- this is about the movement. Sometimes dance doesn't need too many extra words.
Several days ago I made myself go to the studio for the first time in about two weeks. Between plans with friends, teaching yoga, a bruised arch on my left foot and a general lack of inspiration or spark, I just could not be bothered to get myself into that space of creativity and movement.Read More
For the past week, as an addition to my early morning routine, I have been reading several pages of poetry while I sip on my ritual lemon & honey. I started with the serene and sparkling Mary Oliver, moved on to ecstatic and devoted Rumi, and now I am just beginning a book of powerful work by Naomi Shihab Nye. There is something I love about easing into the day with simple, thoughtfully chosen words.Read More
To this day, I cannot quite explain what compelled me to go on a run a couple hours before the ftour during only my second week of ever practicing Ramadan. I was (and still am) a sporadic runner to say the least, putting on my shoes and heading out usually only when feeling anxious, stressed or angry. Those are my running triggers. Yet there I was, my body on low power mode with no water or food burning up energy inside, and I decided that it sounded like a lovely idea to go for a brisk jog out in the last hours of bright sun.Read More
As much as I adore the energy the body absorbs from dance, yoga, long walks, and good stretches, there is one particular physical experience that quite literally rises above all others. I will never get tired of the feeling I get when taking off in an airplane. Rolling slowly away from the gate, moseying around the maze of concrete until the plane turns its nose towards the expectant runway.Read More
Every morning the world is created. Mornings are poems. Whispering sheets, hazy eyelids, the still blue darkness. Our living room window shade is old and creaky and has to be opened from the outside, so I start each day shuffling around the terrace, hauling open wooden panels, always taking a moment to gaze out of our little box of a viewRead More
Lately, I have been on a pretty good roll of spending 2 hours in the studio at least once a week, working solely on personal material. While eventually I would like to make this even more regular, it is a small victory to get myself there every Thursday at 9:30am for the past month or so. When faced with the prospect of self-inflicted momentum in the morning, involving putting on dance clothing, finding a taxi, finding change for the taxi, and finally warming up my body fast enough to bear dancing in a completely non-insulated studio, it can often seem much easier to go back to that dent in the couch where I do my cozy writing and reading.Read More