Missing my California lovers

the sun & moon that made a sandwich of me on the equinox, 

the waves that just kept on coming, 

the sand that new how to get into all the right places, 

and the rocks and drift wood that let me rest on them and other times excited me to explore rolling on & with them.  

A coyote in the desert mountains cries out loud and long for all of you tonight!

Free Your Body Folsom Style

Free Your Body Folsom Style from Mano Sipowicz on Vimeo.

For photos of the Folsom Street Fair you just have to Google it or follow this LINK  It was a photographers paradise of exhibitionists.  This video is my pg version.

I have to say not knowing anything about the political or spiritual culture of s&m, being clothed and dancing in what i would call a somatic sensation based style in contrast to what i was seeing around me... i started to feel like my expression in some ways was more threatening to some of the observers.  Even though i was clothed i felt exposed and with out a costume compared to those completely naked.  I understand this was totally my experience and i did not ask any of the naked ones if they felt like they were wearing a costume, was this their authentic self?

I found myself appreciating the art of s&m as a perfectly beautiful expression of the spirits sometimes felt experience of being in body as imprisonment.  And i can understand the desire to fully express that to its extreme.

Saturday night in San Fran: From Ocean of Water to Ocean of Women

I danced with a woman named Katrina from New Orleans.  Her eyes were wide and rolling and a smile so big I kept waiting for her tongue to role out like Kali.  She taught me to use the wall to find stability and cool stillness that turned into poses and then spine and hips pushing off the wall into undulations.  We united in our quirky maturity riffing off the beats into new rhythms that only the deaf could hear.

I wrote the above in the wee hours this morning and just now found on my friends blog by coincidence a further description of my experience last night.  (To see the full blog go  HERE)

"Last night out dancing in a rangy bar I watched M and saw how an open heart and lack of judgement can change a room and make things happen, small roads unfurl like ribbons from the heart, touch people and the inanimate, charge it up, over at another table a woman I know was surrounded by her own personal entourage who had the aura of gnats lit only by the woman's blue shirt, you could hardly see them, they did not dance, the woman holding court, she'd returned from Haiti very serious and tightly wound in a way I recognize all too well, an ego clench, it's hard to be in a small room when you've been in a big world and that's an unfortunate thing. M dancing. M dancing."

my response:  "Sometimes i wish i could keep someone like you in my pocket and be able to pull you out, push a button and you could give words into all that is felt.
It is a rear night to have one of my roads out cross another and collide to blossom new roads i didn't even no existed. Last night was one such night. I am reminded of a song someone sang to me this week, "the world explodes around me with love".
Small rooms need the big rooms to enter them."

Pussy Cat Pussy Cat Where Have you been? Waves of Breathe

     I can not separate the sounds coming in through my ear from the vibration through this giant rock I have wedged myself underneath.  I can’t see the waves, I feel them inside of me.  A deep rumble louder and louder like a train coming, thump as it hits hard surface, my bones. Haaaaaa as the wave exhales and receeeedes hssssss grrrgulll out threw the sand.

     Being wedged in this rock was like condensing my five day experience on the beach into a concentrated dose of medicine.  In that moment I panic. I birth myself out from between the rock so my body has the freedom to respond to all sound vibrations.  

Pussy cat pussy cat where have you been?

To the ocean to visit my Queen.

Pussy cat pussy cat what did you do there?

I crawled inside her to become her air.

   

Coming here I touch Home,

I touch essence of Self that is not separate from Creator. 

I breathe with That which I am again

I rest in That.

Being held by rock, drift wood, sand, wind, and the warm flesh of others….

I finally rest at home with others

in my self.

   

     Waves coming in and going out, waves in my body as breathe was my theme.

Slow smooth waves, quick hard to catch waves, waves that spiral into tide pools and holes in rocks, the stillness between the waves, the undertow below the surface, the waves that are there constantly even as I wander away and forget them, waves that keep coming back, receding and coming forth, expanding and contracting, going in, and out, alone and with others.

     Twenty years ago I new this place as a twenty five year old.  A long slow inhale, an undertow current took me far away from this place.  But I am finally understanding that the current always returns, inhale is always followed by the exhale even in the movement that is my life.

    The experience at twenty five was different.  At forty five I have discovered that the expression of intensity can be subtle and playful as well as big and dramatic.  I know longer feel a need to cling to stories of my identity.  On my life’s journey I have traveled deep inland to the places of no ocean or sound.  I know from those places there is nothing, nothing to hold onto.  And I know I can choose to decorate myself with the clothing of any identity and it is not who I am. 

And this too is not who I am.

            Exhale   

    I role out on her tongue

    Wet and slimy

    I slowly rise in the puddles of crystal light

    The breeze dances me

   

    Pause into stillness and wait

    To catch the inhale

    I tumble down, bones folding on top of each other

    Tongue curling back into dark wetness.

    “pa” soft wind

    “pa”

    Soft lips opening for a glimpse of light

    “pa”

    Soft jaw closes   

    Wind rushes in

    “pa” open

    “mmm” close

    head sits gentle on top of spine

    bobbing like a buoy on the oceans undulations

    soft spine, soft jaw, soft lips

    kissssss

    “pushhh”

    blow spout

______________   

The experience out at Sea Ranch CA for 5 days was so rich.  I look forward to seeing how I integrate it all.  I wanted to get it out and share some of it quickly here while it is still fresh in my body, and before I enter the wild of this San Francisco city.  HERE is a link to Jamie McHugh’s web sight if you are interested in knowing more about this work called “Somatic Expression.”

I met Jamie 20 years ago while studying with Ana Halprin at her Tamalpa school.  Jamie was somewhat fresh out of Ana’s school back then.  It was beautiful to experience him now as he has integrated Ana’s work and other forms into his own unique form.  Which is hard to even really call a form because his gift is in the way he can simultaneously hold the container for all of us and give such wide breath for all of our unique journeys of unfolding, contacting, expressing our Self in body and nature.

Valencia St, San Francisco

Somewhere on Valencia

Clarion Alley off of Valencia

 

 

Friday night in San Fran

after diner my family dropped me off at the lesbian bar.  Drank a few margaritas and watched the women, think i was the only one wearing a white blouse, sort of a black punk 80’s thing seems to be going on here.  Discovered a lesbian bar isn’t that different in San Fran than Santa Fe, a single woman drinking by herself doesn’t get approached by other lesbians.  I had to do all the approaching.
a band of drunk 21 year old dykes escorted me threw the streets to a dance club - felt like the blind lead by the blind.  Time was altered during that walk, felt like three hours went by, but it must have only been an hour.  Don’t think I have roamed streets like that since my teens.
One of them, the cutest Mexican hipster from East L.A, gave me a sermon about the latest theories of love "opposites don't attract, got to find someone made of the same essence."  As she talked I just wanted to kiss her, her eyes exuded such innocence.  But she was “in love with the one.”  I couldn’t mess with that!
Became “lesbian mom” to two 19, maybe younger, also drunk, pretty gay boys.  They were all hands on each other, just met tonight; one was “celibate because he had already gotten 3 girls pregnant”.  I explained that I didn’t think he would get his latest friend pregnant and then checked their pockets for rubber; the celibate had his pocket full of them (not really a celibate in my experience if you’re walking around prepared).
Finally met up with a friend of a friend, a woman closer to my age, wow.  She took me for a lovely walk threw the mission and then over to Folsom, some gay male bar with a wild drag show, and made lollipops on the pool table.  Didn’t stay long enough for it to harden.  The quote above the table said, “how many licks does it take to get to the center of something.”  Exactly!

Saw this at the SFMOMA, sort of how i feel lately, that's Andy Warhol by the way

sneak peak of more RED to come

So many shades of red to explore ~

Amy Greenfield

      Finding Amy Greenfild’s work is like discovering I’m not alone on an island, there is actually a historical context for my expression as a dancer on video.  She has been doing this since the 70’s!  I am humbled and inspired.            

     These two pieces reminded me of something I had been thinking about. My aesthetic as a dancer in any medium seems to be about my body in relationship.  The primary word being in.  I am someone who needs to get in the water, needs to hug the tree and if there is a hole in the tree, then I will get in it.  I want to feel with my whole body what ever it is.  I had to walk threw the glass that fell in my living room. Years ago when I had a mace can in my purse, I decided I had to smell it…
Amy in these two videos fully explores being in the mud and in the currents.
     There is a way that the medium of film seems to be able to capture not only that the body is in something separate from itself, but it can also show the times when the lines become more blurred, those moments when I am not separate anymore but the other is now in me, I am not moving it, it is not moving me but some other union of movement is happening.
     Amy has named her blog to perfectly express this, “cinemabody’s blog. “  Here is what she says about it.
“It’s not cinema about the body. It’s cinema which is the body. And how the expression of the body as cinema can give kinesthetic vision to all that we can’t see and generally regard as separate from the body, but which I see as coming through the body – Cinema Of The Body And Spirit.
     At some point in the Tides video, the footage turns upside down, Amy on the top of the screen and the ocean under her.  To me that captured the moment when one is playing in the ocean long enough and all of a sudden you are the ocean, who’s on top who’s on the bottom; like in those moments of love making when my lovers nipple is in my mouth and now it is also my own nipple, one body undulating in the same river.  We do have these experiences in our lives; how thrilling to see Amy capture that.



Element from Amy Greenfield on Vimeo.


TIDES HD from Amy Greenfield on Vimeo.

To see more of Amy's video's follow the Vimeo link or uTube her.

To see Amy's blog go HERE
And HERE is the blog that inspired my search for more about Amy

What Lives in this River

Photos from The Santa Fe River, New Mexico, between Camino Carlos Rael and Siler rd.
July 25th 2010.  To see the whole series as a slide show go to FLICKER (there's more)

























To see photos of cars used for river erosion control in other places scroll down a bit.

River Revelations: Worthy as a dead skunk

     After a storm i was walking in the dry river bed with a friend when we came across the skin of a skunk.  Wonder if the river skinned it?   It had rapped itself snuggly around a branch.  It was going to dry real nice.  So i continued to check on it every so often, thinking that eventually i might take it, teeth and claws were still in tacked, really a great find.

     I went out again a few weeks later after another storm, I was looking for the skunk when another woman came along and asked what I was doing.  I told her about the skunk; she new exactly which one I was talking about.  We decided this last storm must have taken it.  She started talking about how she wished there wasn’t so much garbage in the river.  I couldn’t help myself, I blurted out like a playful puppy, “oh I love all the garbage, I bring home treasures almost every time!”  And I pulled out of my pocket the one I had just found.  About an inch long piece of meddle with the words “worthy” on one side and “in” on the other.  She said, “indeed!”  Before we parted she thanked me for changing her way of experiencing the garbage and our river.

     Now if I could only cultivate that kind of compassion for my own internal garbage, see it as beautiful.  I think that’s what the river was trying to tell me that day, “it’s all worthy, inside is worthy, not just what you see on the outside.” 

Check this out, found the definition of skunk medicine

LINK      "SKUNK - brings us an awareness of self-respect. When we fully accept who we are and learn to express the essence of ourselves, without ego, we attract those who share our path and repel those who don't. Skunk medicine is the original "Walk your talk."  It is about developing a good self-image.  In brings increased sensuality spiritually, sexually, psychically."

oh and by the way, the Native word "Shikako" or "skunk place" is recognized as the origin of the name "Chicago" my birthplace.  Wild onions grew all over that area.  Wonder if that shikako smell will just never wash off?

sorry only had my cell phone camera for this photo of the skunk

Erosion Control

Old cars have been used for erosion control along the costs and rivers all over this country, here are some other examples:

Found this at http://www.flatheadbeacon.com/articles/article/the_evolution_of_erosion_control/19039/

this is along the Flathead River in Montana.  Its a great article of a man who remembers helping his father put the cars along the river in the 1950s as an errosion control experiment, "Once in the water, if the cars held, they became a sturdy part of the bank, resisting the river’s strength in ways soil couldn’t. If they didn’t hold, they became an odd sight, drifting down the river like some metal Montana hippo."

Found this at http://www.foundmagazine.com/find/1895

Found this one here
http://www.pbase.com/kayakbiker/image/46806450

Along Rout 66  http://pictureroute66.com/2009/10/23/dirt-66/

Rio Bravo

there is a chance i need to go where the river is called Rio Bravo!

i am guessing there was a time that the river flowed bravely there.

What have we done?

The river behind my home, the Santa Fe River is a vein that feeds that Grande. The source of the Rio Grande is at the base of Canby Mountain Colorado.  As the river enters Mexico it becomes Río Bravo del Norte, or Río Bravo! Many must find that Bravo to cross the river, to cross the border.  And the exit is at the Gulf of Mexico near Brownsville, Texas.

The veins connect us all.

I searched for a long time on google for a clear map of where the Santa Fe river meets the Rio Grande, i find it strange that i could not find one.  I find it strange that all these years living here i have never touched the Rio Grande as it runs near Santa Fe.

This river behind my house makes me want to touch new places, in myself, in my country, in Mexico.  I want to go touch the source of my little vein up in the Santa Fe mountains, i want to touch where my river meets a larger river, i want to touch the Grande river's source and end.  And who knows where all that will lead me???

The ghosts of longing

Longing is a familiar emotion for me; look I live in a desert even though I know water feeds my soul.

And, there is a way that this dry New Mexico land has actually taught me about water, the water of my spirit.  I have learned to appreciate shallow oases and short afternoon rains within myself.  And yet I don’t want to stay comfortable in longing, I want to know continual flow.

Something I haven’t yet really talked about on this blog much less fully acknowledge in my own self, is that in leaving my old home I was choosing to leave not only longing for an intimate fulfilled love but also longing for God that had felt separate from me.

For ten years I moved with a guru around this world, content with moments of bliss when her eyes looked upon me, and content with 90% of the time being in a state of longing for more.  There is no doubt that that 10% of fulfillment taught me so much; taught me what it is I want, what it tastes and feels like in my body. 

But during that 90% time I was living with the belief that I must not deserve 100%.  I am not worthy of gods love, of love, of contentment, wholeness, embodiment of god.   Just as I had believed I would die with out my partner and that it was she who made me whole, so I did with my guru.

I have tried to keep these old longings buried by leaving them up at the house, but they are still with me.  Even though I have physically moved from that home the ghosts of those longings still linger and sometimes haunt me. 

I was lying in the tub the other night and finally allowed myself to feel the longing again for something greater than my own self.   I have been afraid to feel this because I thought it would mean I still wanted to be with my guru.  I used to lie in the tub or float on water and imagine it was my guru holding me.  But even with that I would still feel emptiness inside and I longed to know god/guru inside.  All of a sudden in that moment the other night it became clear to me that since I left my gurus presence I have been working on feeling full of god/Self but now I could clearly feel an emptiness around me, I missed being held by a larger river bed than my own body.  I finally allowed myself to feel longing for That again, but That with out a name I had called my guru and even with out a name of any god.

It was difficult for me to admit that not only do I want to know that again, but I need it, I need to feel contained and carried, that I am not the only one doing all the work.  That was new to admit to myself.

Curious, I wrote the above last night, now after posting the below videos from Morazan, and coming back to this writing again I can see the connections.  Maybe I am projecting onto him my own story, maybe it helps me to find my own.  I see him haunted by old gods and trying to find a way to connect to them in this modern world.  It is really the same for myself even though I don’t come from a religious tradition.  Actually the lack of a religious context makes my confusion and longings feel like a bottomless pit that may never be filled, or sacred ground to walk upon; hungry to devour other’s gods.

 I wonder if Morazon feels lost, because as the observer looking at his work, yes I see his struggle and longings, but in That he is also found.   Can he see that, does he realize he is becoming one with those gods?

Can I see that, can I accept that the ancient ones are with me even if I can’t feel them or even know their names?  Can I accept that I am being held all the time? 

I can’t really explain how but there is a way that this dry land has actually taught me to be fierce. This land has taught me to not be content with feeling dry, but instead to reach even deeper inside and out for what feels missing but may actually be here all along even in this sometimesdry river bed…. life is present.

May my art be the food for these ghosts of longings, may this feeding fill the empty ghosts so that they may be the gods that they are.

Thank you Irvin Morazan

Irvin Morazan

     Last night one of my video's was in a show of short videos called Drift here in Santa Fe.  This was such a thrill to have my work viewed in a public live setting rather than the internet.

     There were several pieces that really moved me, one by the artist Irvin Morazan.  The first photo below is from that video.  Going to his blog I discovered he seems to be into creating these elaborate headdresses.   I think it is Morazan’s juxtaposition of ancient sacred symbolism with the modern that so thrills me.  It reminds me of the natural garbage sculptures I find in the riverbed after a flash flood.  In the video called “El Salvador” it seems the old gods have not been lost but are transforming themselves to our new ways of worship; break dancing in the streets to the beat box god.

 To see more of his work go HERE

Just found this great video of his, and you can find more on youtube

Caballo Maya (Mayan Horse) from irvin Morazan on Vimeo.

here i'll just show you the one i saw last night:

Paddeling the Santa Fe River

Apparently kayaking happens in the Santa Fe River in the spring!!  more photos and story at this
Link  from Outside mag.

River Revealings: writings from this summer

As you may or may not know; at the beginning of this summer I moved from a hilltop home that looked over Santa Fe into town along the Santa Fe River.  This river seems to be very stimulating for me, feeds me creatively.  Here is some writing from this summer; hopefully more to come threw the changing seasons ahead.

June 6th

Look what the dog brought back from the river dear…



Maybe i am my own dog and i wont need to get one. I remember as a kid one of my favorite things to do was to cruze the garbage cans in the allies of my neighborhood. I felt like a pirate out on a treasure hunt. I grew up near Lake Michigan in the Chicago area. One time walking on the beach i found an old metal fireplace mantle. I made my brothers friends come bring it back to my house. Another time it was a giant wave warn stump, must have weighed over 100 pounds. Wonder if that stuff is still sitting in my old yard?


So there is something familiar for me when walking in this Santa Fe River. Today if i could have brought back the porcelain kitchen sink i would have. At one point in junior high i thought i would like to be a garbage person, instead i dated one. 


Today was my first walk in the river since moving into my new place. I was just giddy when i found the plump white heart shaped stone. Felt like a good sign. And it felt important to carry the piece of wood on my head on the way back. It forced me to keep my eyes off the ground. For some reason I’m really into the river warn tile pieces, i have collected some of those before when I was on the coast of Mexico. I loved imagining the travel they may have had across the ocean; or were they local?

There is something so right and thrilling for me in being in this environment that is a mixture of nature’s beauty & humans garbage. While I have always loved human garbage, it has been a long time since I have allowed myself to walk in it and feel the old delight it can give me. It feels symbolic of this move from the ridge tops of Santa Fe to this new location on the river. Making peace with my own humanness - faults and mistakes. That somehow it is actually all that that makes us/me a creative alive being. Not a static, still monk or God sitting on top of a hill. But someone curious about life and willing to take risks and make mistakes; able to walk with other humans and actually appreciate their unique faults instead of hiding, running away or shunning them. 


I am worried that with the new river clean up they will remove the old beat up cars that make up the sides of this rivers walls. Trees and flowers now grow out of them. They have become a moist oasis for plant life to grow out of, our garbage creating a place of refuge for nature.


As i was walking and contemplating what all this garbage means to me and why i find it so inspiring, i couldn’t help but think of all the oil washing ashore in the Gulf. That too is our garbage, and I don’t feel the same about that mistake! If I could some how see the amount of oil that is in our Santa Fe River i would be outraged. So I do have limits and boundaries to how much garbage feels acceptable. This felt like an important realization about myself. I don’t want people to continue dumping their cars and sinks in the Santa Fe river. In fact when i saw fresh brand new sneakers i felt a combination of sadness and fear. Sadness for the person that lost their great sneaker and fear that their may be a dead body that goes with that sneaker. And, i have swum in rivers in India where they dispose of their dead, along with feces. Culturally it was expectable, so i went along with it and i could feel the holiness of that water. But in general India crosses the line for me, or the lines are too blurred, between sacred and garbage. For example cows walking around with garbage bags stuck hanging out of their anus. “Sacred” cows live on the city streets in India and eat whatever they can fine. They are basically the garbage collectors. Too much for me.


I had the thought while walking that the Santa Fe River is a garbage collector for Santa Fe physically and spiritually. She takes our sins away, or leaves them in the banks to be a reminder of what we have done. 
When i thought of the river as purifier, it helped me to understand why i have limits to how much garbage is acceptable. I know when i start feeling too toxic emotionally, physically, psychically, i do something to unload the burden it creates within me and around me. 
There is a way that i can find forgiveness for my mistakes and use them as compost or an oasis for new growth in myself. But there are also times when it just becomes too much, all systems become clogged, the river can’t even flow, and then I have to let go, clean out. That’s what moving out of my old home was, a big river clean out.

My friend Ana wrote a blog about forgiveness and our collective consciousness around oil and the spill. It is a good question. How do we collectively and individually forgive and clean out? We probably each have different degrees of tolerance as well, so how can we unite about that then?

Look what the dog brought back today dear… an oil-covered pelican!



Reading other peoples blogs is new for me. I’m finding it interesting to see how we stimulate each other, it feels like it become a collective writing experience. Instead of sitting in smoky filled pubs in Paris having deep philosophical conversations, we now write alone on our computers, but we are still touching each other, maybe even changing each other… And actually in real time i would not be able to respond quick enough to be part of such a conversation, it can take me a few days to digest someone else’s thoughts and to feel what my response it independently from theirs… well now this is getting into a whole other conversation, save that for another day.



The river brought in a lot today. I think I’m going to like living here!

In case your interested here is my friends blogs:
 http://jellobrain.com/blog/jellobrain/donald_vidrine


my collection for the day

July 5

River Reveals me

I am loving the sensation of coming home from the river with treasures. It reminds me of long ago, hunting and gathering and coming home to a family that is excited to see what I have brought back from the wild for them. That which will feed, nourish and warm them.


I feel there is a key here to understanding what it is I am looking for in my creative explorations & expressions. I want the sensation of going out, out into the wild chaos of the creative unknown and then a feeling of coming home, home with something to share and that makes sense of the wildness, something those that I love will benefit from.



And this Santa Fe River is giving me so much more than these physical treasures. I am starting to feel her winding sandy bed in my own psychic body. There is a way that she is teaching me about my own creative nature. 
She is helping me to gently open, to have faith and respect for the random river of my own creativity. And I am feeling the pull to follow it, float on it, splash a little, play in the mud and what ever else needs to happen in there.


And today, I brought home a piece of rebar. It was all twisted into a shape. I saw in it the curved form of a reclining woman, my muse perhaps.



This evening as I walked, I enjoyed seeing how the recent rains have changed the shape of the riverbed. There are places that used to be full of stone that are now full of sand. 
After walking for 40 minutes, I saw what looked like a mirage from a distance. As I got closer all my senses peaked with excitement. Was this man made or flash flood made? Was it a sculpture in the middle of the riverbed? All of a sudden I felt as if I was walking upon someone’s secret romantic beach 4 post bed! It seemed there should be candles it felt so intentional. I looked around half expecting to see two naked lovers present. At the base of each post was a bouquet collection of garbage and twigs, rapped around the post like a clinging lover. One post had what looked like romantic silk fabric tied to it, now floating in the cool evening breeze.


I find it so curious the stories that my eyes see, what would yours have seen? 
The obvious randomness of all those pieces coming together in a flash flood, it does feel sensual to me; how they find each other, how they cling to each other, sometimes entangled elaborately other times precariously balancing. They seem to reshape and twist themselves so that they can be connected to one another and not swept away down the river.

Ah, the river, my eyes, they do reveal so much about myself how I see, how I feel, how I create, how I love.

my rebar dream muse now floats above my bed

Four post bed

 7-24-10

Walking with dog….

well... i was walking in the river as i do... and coming towards me off a ways was what looked like a red coyote.  We were both cautious at first and then at the same moment it was as if we both recognized an old friend.  He came up and sniffed me, i noticed he had a thick substantial collar on, i thought of checking his tags but somehow it felt too intimate.  He then kept trotting the way i had just come from.  I watched and was thinking, "wonder where he's going?" he stopped and looked at me as if to invite me.  So i followed.  And he continued to stop every so often to be sure i was following.  He seemed like he new where he was going and it felt nice to be led somewhere.  In fact i even started to tear up a bit, can't really explain why, except that it felt like an old familiar sensation to follow the pack leader. 

We were both getting pretty wet in the steady rain and my house was coming up so i started to walk towards it and stopped in front of the gate.  He was still up ahead and then stopped and looked at me again.  It was a bit of a stare down; i wanted to get in out of the wet but i new he wanted to keep going.  I put the big rock down i happened to be caring and caught up to him.  As we came to a paved road, he slowed his gait and walk right next to me.  We started to approach a busy intersection, as if in a trance he walked right into the busy street!  I screeched, “stop!”  He was disoriented and luckily the car was able to stop in time.  By the time all that happened a woman on the other side of the road had gotten out of the car and was calling to him to come.  I was very confused.  The car with the lady had been sitting there for a while and had obviously seen us walking towards that busy street.  It ended up being her dog!  He jumped into her big black Jeep and she waved at me, and yelled across the road that he had run off because of the thunder.  The whole thing just felt very strange!  How did that dog know she would be there?  Why didn’t she stop him from crossing the street sooner?  Why did the dog want me to walk with him?  Why did I want to walk with him?  As I turned away back towards my house I said in my head, “those crazy lesbians and their dogs!”  How did I know that was a lesbian?  Just wondering, did I save that dogs life?

7-26-10

The river moves me and yet, 

i still cling

i am it all... 
water, bones and flesh.

it seems curious that my river only flows after a storm or in the spring from the snow melt. 
The river was rushing earlier. I entered it when it was a stream and as i traveled down river it turned into a trickle and then only pools. 
My intention today entering was to observe impermanence. I saw much of that! But i found when taking pictures... my energy felt as if it was clinging to what i saw.  My eyes hurt. I loved taking the photos, but now i feel i must go back and just move with her, dance.  Be the energy of the river rather than capturing her.  And so perhaps i answer the question i posted earlier today, what it is to be a dancer for me... to be... to be energy in motion. To move with, with my energy or the energy of other.



hmm... i feel full of the rivers energy now so that i can dance. Before i entered i did not feel alive with energy.



So much to learn here!!!

Photos to come later…

River in my House

This video is unedited and captures a spontaneous moment of moving threw and talking about this broken glass in my new home that happens to be next to the Santa Fe River.  This took place in the second week of this past June.  I hope to put together an edited version soon.


River in my House from Mano Sipowicz on Vimeo.
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River in My House:

River in riverbed
Bed holding river
River moves threw bed
change & stillness

Spirit in body
Body holding spirit
Spirit moving body
change & stillness

Body in home
Home comforts body
Body moves threw home
change & stillness

Home for body
Home for spirit
Home in the heart

Finding home
In body
In motion
In change
In stillness
In body at home

River in my house

Finding Beauty in the Chaos

     This past June, a few days after I moved into my new place, a strong wind came rushing threw my house knocking over two vases, one with flowers the other a vase of the Virgin Mary from Mexico (I had bought this one with my x many years ago).
     While it was shocking, the beauty of it immediately amazed me.  This display of nature’s chaos remained in my house for over a week.   I continued to document it as it changed in the light and the flowers began to fade.  I also filmed myself walking threw it and pouring more water on it.  I tried mopping it up several times but it just wasn’t time yet.  It was a beautiful experiment in what I will call live art.  And I loved the feeling that I was living with it.  I hope to find ways to continue this practice.
     Now looking back at this event it feels like it was a blessing for creative projects yet to come, a blessing from water and wind and even the Santa Fe River that runs next to this new home.  I let go of so much in that move, there really had been so much destruction and shattering.  Since then, with the blessing of nature herself, my creative process has been about finding the beauty in it all.










To see more of this series go to flicker  HERE

Theme song for this blog: Pick Up The Pieces

I kept hearing the words in my head for the past few days, "pick up the pieces" and then i remembered it was one of my favorite songs when i was a kid.  I remember loving that album cover too.  Amazes me how all the pieces are coming together, this blog is doing some kind of healing magic on me.

Another's Tears

Tears written by Enigma

I am angry
because I thought I cried my last tear,
yesterday.
But the sun is cradled in the arms of the sky and with this occurrence a new batch of tears has manifest.

I’m not angry because of their reappearance.
I’m angry because with this new expedition I believed that I would finally reach my point,
The point of not return,
The end.

The end of the games
The lying
The playing.
The end of non love being dressed up to look like love because the giver was unaware that outside appearances can indeed look the same.
Failing to realize that it’s the light that shines from within that you must discern.

I believed I had reached the point,
The point of no return.
The point where blows weren’t returned in place of love.
Deceit in place of truth.
Stagnation in place of growth.
Because being at the receiving end, I could no longer take any more...
Blows to this heart of mine
No more deceit transferred as truth within my mind.
No more promises of “baby I’ll do better” only to sit and wait and wait and sit
And at 7 seconds to the final hour realize that better was really a euphemism for
Technically never.

Through those season I cried so many tears.
Tears from the corner of my eyes,
Some falling from the inside and outside
Or filled to the rim and over flowing
Even though I tried my damnedest to keep them in.

I cried hurt tears
Scared, sometimes terrified tears,
I can’t do this shit no mo’ tears.
I’ll kill this nigga tears
Oh so this mofo must think I’m stupid tears
But he really bout to see my crazy, tears.

I cried confused, unhappy, unwanted, unappreciated, uncelebrated...
Tears.
Cried so many tears for 28 seasons.

So when the seasons changed, I thought I would no longer need the tears
After all, for everything there is a season.
And I had passed through so many deaths, that I believed this was finally my season of life.
And it was, it is, but even in life, you cry...
Tears.

Tears of happiness, renewal, growth.
Tears because what I had been through I don’t have to go through anymore.
Tears because where I am, is no longer where I was and where I’m going...
I control.

But, regardless of the season and who is or isn’t on the expedition with me
I can count on my tears because they continuously cleanse
Allowing me to release.
 
For Enigmas full Blog go HERE

dream

And last night i dreamt that i woke up lying on a stage, i was there to give my monologue.  I wondered how long i had been there, how long were they waiting for me?  As i became more alert i could here a voice talking, i looked out into the audience and another woman was standing and giving her monologue.  But i also saw another woman in the crowd that i recognized.  She was also standing with a big smile on her face, looking at me, as if she was listening to my story already.  I didn't know what to do with the other woman already talking.  I was so sleepy and set my head down again to rest but fell again to sleep.

Shadow in the Dark

Last night I was visited by a shadow of a person at my pillow. I jumped with a scream and tried to get away from it before I realized it was only a dream. I sat there shaking in the dark for a half an hour and then finally cried myself to sleep.

I remember one of the reasons I didn’t want to separate from my “life partner” was because I was afraid of the dark and would sometimes wake up screaming, but she was always there to hold me. I haven’t had one of those dreams in a very long time.

Since living alone I am no longer afraid of the dark, in fact I can lye under the darkness and watch for shooting stars or bathe in the light of the full moon. I used to be afraid UFO’s would come take me away. Now I know the stars and moon are there to protect me.

Right before going to bed I had watched a video of myself performing a monolog about my relationship with my x. I performed it back in March, this was the first time I have had access to the video to see what I had done. Performing the monolog was a big deal for me, an act of transformation in itself. I have never seen myself as someone with anything to say, certainly not a story to share. I had always expressed silently with my body, with dance. But in March I got up and spoke anyways!

As I watched I cringed and my heart raced with nervousness. I felt so exposed. I felt shy about how big my energy was, how brave I had been. Watching myself I just wanted to get small as possible. And I could feel I was small again, back in my safe box.

Is it even possible to stay present in that kind of honesty of self of spirit?

I am glad to have this document of that performance because it is so easy to forget the potential that lies waiting.

Waiting in the dark on my pillow perhaps!

Was the shadow my fear of my potential or was the shadow my potential, was it the no or the yes?

The most creative alive times in my life have been when I have chosen to follow fear.

So tonight as I lay my head on the pillow (now 2AM), I call that shadow back, tonight may I dance with you and see what we make together.