Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Quenching a particular human thirst

Rain in June. Sweet. And so rare here. I smell and taste soft silver wet air soothing me into that particular kind of breathing available only when a veil of rain touches and rests everywhere ­-- when the thirst of skin, leaf, ground and air is quenched.

I hear sirens, the endless sound waves from Highway 580, bird songs, a pack of children at play outdoors, sounding surprisingly like birds flocking to sunset prayer.

I am touched to be writing this bit of public letter from the heart of my private life, as full of its longings and demands as it is of its dreams, passions, and prayers...prayers for help in valuing and tending life, dance, body, family, world…our embodied stories...

With humans, stories matter. Stories carry our all ­ past, present, seeds for the future.

They weave the fabric, sometimes whole, sometimes torn, of every family and every culture. When they are true ­ to our own experience; our vulnerability and buoyancy, our lungs, hearts, immune systems; to our world --­ then they carry old medicine and new antidote to brokenness in all its seductive guises, masks and costumes.

These real stories are deeply woven into our bodies. When they are lost or hidden ­ through coercion, through uprootedness -- or become lies or omissions, well covered by busyness and fear; when they cannot be seen, heard, learned from, well witnessed -- they twist us into destructive, compulsive repetition and cause untold suffering and missed opportunities to love and be loved. When we can move and speak our stories -- have them received and valued --­ we remember what it is to belong and to contribute -- as valued relations -- to this world.

Reviving our wealth of body memory; learning to hold space for important stories, questions, teachings -- hilarity and depth come through.

This is our course. We are the swimmers and the sailors. With permission and support, we grieve and celebrate, feel and think, council with our whole body intelligence. We grow gills, feathers, wings -- fields of empathy; arms, thighs, bellies of compassion for the call to acknowledge and to mend -- ­ to be in touch; intact.

Right in the center of these end times ­-- end of oil, end of waste, end of war (one way or the other folks) ­-- we come together to move and to be still, to give and receive permission to be seen and heard -- as we really are.

We bow to the wilderness, to the garden; to body and Earth -- ­ animate, intelligent, receptive, responsive. These are the jewels we recognize and protect in Body Tales -- the fires we tend, the waters we drink.

Giving thanks for the precious rains that bless us with life.