Dying/broken/forgiven.... now I begin

Born: 17-06-56....gemini.... monkey
re-born: 3-09-80
born again\found: 14-04-08
other notable dates: 10-03-68; 03-09-87; 23-03-96;
1-05-98; 31-01-02; 5-04-04

Interests: movement, stressed/transgressive embodiment, lived experience (body\space\time\relation)
expression ( word, dance, text, image, story, music, poetics)
learning, yielding......

Hopes for the blog:
offer up the wild intersectedness of lived experience and engage others in creative, expressive, perhaps irreverant, hopefully playful, and respectful encounters....
enact kindness
create moments of pause for disclosure, discovery, stillness

Monday, October 31, 2011


it was one of those 
so cruel that I was too
to be angry
I feel the unguarded gasp in my chest
the terrible oh
of more terrible
this is one of those
I will remember
what I need to do
to keep myself 
from now on
I keep that 

Friday, October 14, 2011

sweet dreams are made of this*

* with apologies to Eurythmics

The dream feels real. Dropped into a corridor teeming with people, scattered carelessly all over the floor, I pick my way through the vastness of strewn bodies, some awake, some asleep,  some stoned, some moaning, some  staring, laying in various positions of twist and turn. I recognize no one, yet I know that  I need to be afraid. I make my way as best as I can, and, as is typical in many of my dreams, I am carrying too much, a purse over my shoulder, a larger satchel,  my coat over my arm, since it has gotten unexpectedly unbearably warm in the moments since I have arrived. Suddenly one of the quiet staring men grabs my ankle. I startle and gasp, and in that moment I drop my coat. He holds on tightly. I pull against his grasp, I wrench myself free, and I reach down to get my coat and get the hell out of there..... and then I am running for my car, and I reach into the coat pocket for the keys... no one is following me, but it's only a matter of moments until something awful happens, I can feel it.... and that's  when it hits me..... I have his coat... and all I can do is sob....I halt and turn and look at the door  and  shudder at what awaits me on the other side even though I know I have to go back and get my own coat and in order to do that I have to find ...him.. And not get caught again. ..... my despair and resignation and fear are humming .... and then I wake up.  I think two things: time to move  my keys to my purse, and, at least my dreams are not subtle.

My Dreams are Not Subtle

My dreams are not subtle
they boil and they bubble
the tower I'm climbing  is turning to rubble
with each step I'm trying to outrun the trouble
that's chasing my heart
can't stop racing
the clock winding down
all the windows have lights facing east

My dreams are not subtle
confusion and muddle
dilemmas around every turn there's a puddle
and when I splash through
winter winds make me huddle
I'm placing my hands
begin lacing
my snowshoes leave tracks
 is facing the beast

My dreams are not subtle
all crush and no cuddle
my dreams are not subtle
silk smooth feels like stubble
I look at one face
and can only see double
dreams bracing
against time erasing
the stars falling into
an ocean of sorrow at least
my dreams are not subtle

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Sword-swallower, centrefold, balls & babes

A month later, Autism camp continues to give rise to memories and insights. Perhaps these memories remain so vivid and insistent because autism is such an ongoing part of my necessarily intertwined personal and professional life. This past weekend, almost a month to the day since camp ended, I facilitated a workshop  on Movement Education and Autism, an achievement of sorts, since I've been beating the movement education drum for 15 years .... now, it seems, administrators, policy makers, therapists, specialists, EA's, PSW's, and other decision makers have "discovered" the value of meaningful movement experiences for kids, youth and adults with autism.
Perhaps they should come to camp and see first hand these kids, youth and young adults in action....

I want to tell you about two such young men.... Alexander and Billy. Take a quick glance up at the title, and read on.
Alexander is 17 this year.  Tall, dark and handsome; incredible eyes,  a long history of self injury  and anxiety; mostly non verbal but  an immensely effective communicator. Even though he is over 6 feet tall, he frolics and cavorts around like a 5 year old. He loves jumping on any surface that has even a hint of  springiness to it,  and  he loves the water. We swim at a gorgeous pool that has wonderful extras... water slide,  warm jets,  sprays, an incline entry for wheelchair users or anyone with mobility challenges, loads of water toys....   the pool is surrounded by glass and it's easy to see everything that is going on from the lobby. Alexander gets in and swims, floats, bobs, his eyes the only thing visible except for his occasional head lift to pull in a breath. He can be in the water for hours and is usually easy to coax out  with little fanfare or drama..... and then there are days when  he is ready not only to be out but also to be done.... one such day he gave the spectators in the lobby quite the show. He gets out,  goes to his towel, whips down his trunks and displays himself in all his glorious manhood. Lots of wide eyes in the lobby. Lifeguards and camp workers rush to assist him with his towel, but he is in noooo hurry as he does a leisurely  turn to and fro.We eventually get him  mummied in a towel and then he skips off the deck, chuckling,  supremely contented. What a great swim! This same young man has the most insatiable thirst ... he frequently goes scavenging for water bottles, his own and any one else's in reach. On our week two trip to the amusement park, he went through the picnic area grabbing and draining water bottles until we were able to chase him down and give him  his own quite large  bottle of water.  He chugs that and while we are congratulating ourselves on this feat of re-hydration, he manages to get into The Hungry Bear restaurant , grab a lady's beer right off the table and chug that down as well.... we are quite used to running interference for our campers and we offer to buy the nice lady a beer to replace the one she just lost. She graciously accepts and gives Alexander a high five... "he's a natural" she says, admiringly. Alex has a big grin.
Billy, on the other hand, is more subtle. Also an older teenager, 18 this year, another kid who is non verbal but who has no trouble at all with communicating,  all arms and legs, two monster prosthetics on his huge feet, blond,  with a dreamy expression on his face since he became a teenager  and figured out that gorgeous young women dominate the field  in disability services. He has a goofy laugh and big arm gestures that accompany that laugh. His favourite trick; convincing the girls who work with him that it is their job to go and get the ball when he throws it, or his version of fetch..... and it is usually a cute girl in tight jean  shorts, and the shorter the better. The shorts I mean, not the girls. Billy throws the ball... cute girl goes to get it , cute girl bends over and picks up the ball, Billy does the goofy laugh and the big gestures. I give him  the eye. He laughs even more. He knows that I know what he's doing.  I shake my head, Billy, you are so busted.... but I am trying not to smile..... what's up here I ask .... he likes it, says cute girl. No shit,  I think. As gently as I can while preserving both their dignity I explain to her what is likely going on.....she looks at Billy and decides that maybe he ought to be the one doing the running and bending..... he shrugs. Ya can't blame a guy for trying.
Camp is a place where we can participate in meaningful movement, something that everyone needs and deserves. And, it's a place  where meaningful things happen between people who care about each other. Till next summer.