A dream that recurs.
Standing in an apartment I've never seen
Preparing a departure dinner
we didn't mean
I can’t make myself
this time
To welcome strangers never met
that hold the world of the prior shaped fantasy
with tweezers and tenfolds of control and consistency,
twilight and transition.
I am happy to comfort and extend in my cowering
Happy to primp and prepare in reprieve
So long as it is distant
so long as the tears defining our sleeves are clear.
(by tears I don't mean tears, I never do)
I've asked for guidance.
He pauses and asks to come to my home
overwhelmed
In need of escape
I agree and we are in the car
He drives, as I sit in the passenger seat
Watching the landscape slide by,
happy to go.
I lose control
My hand, my arm
lucid and aware and involuntary
No ability to stop the movement of my limbs toward his body
My hand to his knee.
Until impulse returns
I offer a friendly squeeze
A note of comaraderie
To his glance of surprise
and some suspect suspense
My hand, my arm
Darts back to my lap
Eyes to the landscape
And the sliding of time.
It happens again
This loss of control
Inebriation of intent
My hand, my arm
Pulling to his on the shift
Control comes quicker this time, stopping short of a touch
He reaches out and grabs my hand
Placing it under his on the shift
Relief
Fingers entwining
Finding
Pulsing
Greedy
Exposing
Apparent
Free.
We walk our hands in our arms
Exploring the moon
Up the back stairs
Into my moderate mess
And he speaks to me
Fingers entwined
"Don’t bother with this
Start serving yourself
Let your world out
Instead of trapping it in
Reach."
I agree
Shining high above our atmosphere
with the promise of inhibition
and the dream that recurs
once a month.
sometimes twice.
when we're lucky,
blessed
and full of a moon that turns blue
with a promise that can be temporary
restrained
free
or discarded,
The moon always shines.
in the recurrence of a dream.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Hot apple cider and Union Square
Today marks the two week point before I leave Chicago and head out to the West Coast.( Warning: this post will be particularly self-indulgent.) I have neither doubts nor qualms about leaving. The time has been right to do so for years, really, and I've had the grace of having made this decision in January, allowing me 9 full months to explore, assess and find a renewed love and care in this city. I leave Chicago with peace, gratitude and the strength that this city has instilled. I have always held fast to the belief and action of following through- do not leave a place or circumstance until you have had your full teaching and discipline. Note the moments of movement, growth and stasis, and keep going. I came to Chicago on a dramatic whim, and will leave having the benefits bred into my being into a denouement. Dramatic, sure, but it makes perfect sense.
And, holy shit-I'm leaving in two weeks. I keep expecting to feel a sense of something akin to remorse, but I don't. I keep expecting to stumble across a failure, but I haven't. I keep expecting to find disappointment, but disappointment only lies in the idea of staying, not of leaving. And I keep coming back to the idea of transition.
Definition time!
Transition:
1 a : passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another : change b : a movement, development, or evolution from one form, stage, or style to another
2 a : a musical modulation b : a musical passage leading from one section of a piece to another
3 : an abrupt change in energy state or level (as of an atomic nucleus or a molecule) usually accompanied by loss or gain of a single quantum of energy
And of relationships.
Relationship:
1 : the state of being related or interrelated
2 : the relation connecting or binding participants in a relationship: as a : kinship b : a specific instance or type of kinship
3 a : a state of affairs existing between those having relations or dealings b : a romantic or passionate attachment
I have started to recognize that all of my work deals with the crossing of relationships and transition. Not a very deep thought or association- it makes sense. Wordplay ,teaching, movement, visual work, friends, acquaintances, inspiration, navigation. They all connect and are made interesting with interpretation, perception, building, skill, technique and evolution. This summer, as I was leading a performance program in which my students were to build their own show, from the ground up, I found myself encouraging them to "look for the game," follow the game, and then break the rules with moments of improvisation and honesty, as it erupted, and go back. I've taught this program for years, and my teaching of it always contorts with each program, and this is the first time that game-play came out nearly immediately. When teaching, I stand by discipline first. I didn't recognize this unconscious shift in my teaching until, at week 2 of the 6 week program, one of my students responded to a question with, "Well, I was looking for the game, and here it is." And everyone nodded and understood. In a group of high school kids who ranged from 14-18, brought in from all parts of the city. Apparently, I had introduced game-play immediately, with discipline. And the result was, in 6 weeks, these kids wrote and performed a show that was really wonderful, honest, full and thought provoking. No matter what, they would have created a show they loved, as they all wrote, built, choreographed and directed it. The nature of the program, which is why it always works. I was surprised that I went a bit for the jugular of game-play immediately, but it makes sense, as I knew that this was my last performance program in chicago, and it was completely my teaching. Fuck it. No bullshit. Find the transition and the relationship, and that is where the interesting developments come to light. That's the story, in both theatre and in life. That is where you learn, assess and grow. Pen to paper, paint to canvas, word to ear, eye to eye.
As I've been packing and organizing, I have been coming upon my old journals, that I've kept throughout the years. It's a writer thing, I suppose. Most are shit, and just over-dramatic musings of consequence and broken hearted quandries. Conversations with God, really. They've been prominent materials in the whole Joe Lies project, and when I was younger, I recorded them with the want to review in wisdom at a later date. To examine youth. To be able to access honest ramblings and questions. As I leave Chicago, it is clear that I will be leaving these journals, save a few. I found a journal that I had shared with a boyfriend in Memphis, that we used to mail back and forth between Memphis and NYC. Here is a bit of the first entry:
8/26/98
Times of transition. These are the strangest, these are the most free, yet feel as though you are trapped without any escape other the eminent departure and a desire for clarity. Yet, that is neither clear, nor unclear, and you feel lost. These are the times when a stranger can change your life, simply by appearing. Safety is no longer an option, it is a tease. Suddenly, safety becomes untouchable and pristine, hovering just outside a reach that refuses to grasp. You try not to stare, because you're aware that safety is taunting you, flaunting itself in quiet power with a high-pitched giggle. You react by taunting it with comfort. You create each moment into a cherished memory. This is my last taste of this coffee. This is my last glimpse of this coffeeshop. You become a tease to the commonplace, the position you've held. You know you won't be here tomorrow. So you become a camera, recording and memorizing each moment as it occurs. Each acquaintance becomes a dear, lifelong friend. Yet, like clarity, this is neither true nor untrue. You're sitting in a coffeeshop.
The point of this is that it all remains the same. What was scrawled in a journal about the state of leaving as a 23 year old remains the same as I set out to leave another city as a 36 year old. Wisdom is in this identification. Things and circumstances change, but the weight of transition indicates how aware you choose to be. As I have spent the past 7 months returning to the people and places I have loved and known best,because I had chosen to transition, I have done so with a recording eye, not a nostalgic one. Nostalgia is welcome later. Right now, I'm looking for the games and laughing as I play them with glee. Why am I surprised that I asked my students to do the same, when it is clearly a skill and technique? I think I wouldn't have noticed it, were it not for my students bringing it to my attention in honest action and response. Beauty of teaching. It is a cyclical exchange.
And, holy shit-I'm leaving in two weeks. I keep expecting to feel a sense of something akin to remorse, but I don't. I keep expecting to stumble across a failure, but I haven't. I keep expecting to find disappointment, but disappointment only lies in the idea of staying, not of leaving. And I keep coming back to the idea of transition.
Definition time!
Transition:
1 a : passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another : change b : a movement, development, or evolution from one form, stage, or style to another
2 a : a musical modulation b : a musical passage leading from one section of a piece to another
3 : an abrupt change in energy state or level (as of an atomic nucleus or a molecule) usually accompanied by loss or gain of a single quantum of energy
And of relationships.
Relationship:
1 : the state of being related or interrelated
2 : the relation connecting or binding participants in a relationship: as a : kinship b : a specific instance or type of kinship
3 a : a state of affairs existing between those having relations or dealings
I have started to recognize that all of my work deals with the crossing of relationships and transition. Not a very deep thought or association- it makes sense. Wordplay ,teaching, movement, visual work, friends, acquaintances, inspiration, navigation. They all connect and are made interesting with interpretation, perception, building, skill, technique and evolution. This summer, as I was leading a performance program in which my students were to build their own show, from the ground up, I found myself encouraging them to "look for the game," follow the game, and then break the rules with moments of improvisation and honesty, as it erupted, and go back. I've taught this program for years, and my teaching of it always contorts with each program, and this is the first time that game-play came out nearly immediately. When teaching, I stand by discipline first. I didn't recognize this unconscious shift in my teaching until, at week 2 of the 6 week program, one of my students responded to a question with, "Well, I was looking for the game, and here it is." And everyone nodded and understood. In a group of high school kids who ranged from 14-18, brought in from all parts of the city. Apparently, I had introduced game-play immediately, with discipline. And the result was, in 6 weeks, these kids wrote and performed a show that was really wonderful, honest, full and thought provoking. No matter what, they would have created a show they loved, as they all wrote, built, choreographed and directed it. The nature of the program, which is why it always works. I was surprised that I went a bit for the jugular of game-play immediately, but it makes sense, as I knew that this was my last performance program in chicago, and it was completely my teaching. Fuck it. No bullshit. Find the transition and the relationship, and that is where the interesting developments come to light. That's the story, in both theatre and in life. That is where you learn, assess and grow. Pen to paper, paint to canvas, word to ear, eye to eye.
As I've been packing and organizing, I have been coming upon my old journals, that I've kept throughout the years. It's a writer thing, I suppose. Most are shit, and just over-dramatic musings of consequence and broken hearted quandries. Conversations with God, really. They've been prominent materials in the whole Joe Lies project, and when I was younger, I recorded them with the want to review in wisdom at a later date. To examine youth. To be able to access honest ramblings and questions. As I leave Chicago, it is clear that I will be leaving these journals, save a few. I found a journal that I had shared with a boyfriend in Memphis, that we used to mail back and forth between Memphis and NYC. Here is a bit of the first entry:
8/26/98
Times of transition. These are the strangest, these are the most free, yet feel as though you are trapped without any escape other the eminent departure and a desire for clarity. Yet, that is neither clear, nor unclear, and you feel lost. These are the times when a stranger can change your life, simply by appearing. Safety is no longer an option, it is a tease. Suddenly, safety becomes untouchable and pristine, hovering just outside a reach that refuses to grasp. You try not to stare, because you're aware that safety is taunting you, flaunting itself in quiet power with a high-pitched giggle. You react by taunting it with comfort. You create each moment into a cherished memory. This is my last taste of this coffee. This is my last glimpse of this coffeeshop. You become a tease to the commonplace, the position you've held. You know you won't be here tomorrow. So you become a camera, recording and memorizing each moment as it occurs. Each acquaintance becomes a dear, lifelong friend. Yet, like clarity, this is neither true nor untrue. You're sitting in a coffeeshop.
The point of this is that it all remains the same. What was scrawled in a journal about the state of leaving as a 23 year old remains the same as I set out to leave another city as a 36 year old. Wisdom is in this identification. Things and circumstances change, but the weight of transition indicates how aware you choose to be. As I have spent the past 7 months returning to the people and places I have loved and known best,because I had chosen to transition, I have done so with a recording eye, not a nostalgic one. Nostalgia is welcome later. Right now, I'm looking for the games and laughing as I play them with glee. Why am I surprised that I asked my students to do the same, when it is clearly a skill and technique? I think I wouldn't have noticed it, were it not for my students bringing it to my attention in honest action and response. Beauty of teaching. It is a cyclical exchange.
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