Lying face down in the sand
It’s the last day of summer
The bumps under my towel form to caress my torso, ribcage. Perfectly
I feel my heart wholly open
and pour down into the sand
While I listen to the waves
And cry
journal 3
It has been over a year since my last post. It was right before the pandemic, protests for social/racial/political justice, and a stressful election year. Things are feeling like they are letting up but this year has taught all of us there is no way to be sure of what or who to trust. Maybe we are all just getting used to it. We are leaning into the ones with like-minds, and hoping we are making constructive choices toward progress. Choices rooted in change, love, and care for our communities and world.
I have been lucky during this year. Although dance has been replaced by zoom classes and I have not been teaching, I was only briefly furloughed from a side hustle that is supporting me in my living expenses. I have not lost anyone close to me from COVID-19, I moved to a safe space, am out of debt, left an abusive relationship, went to therapy, and have cultivated space for collaborations with artists I care about.
I feel as if I am coming out of being underwater. But I am still wet.
In a few days, it will be my 30th birthday. I will be dedicating myself to a 10 day Vipassana meditation course in North Fork, CA. This is the perfect birthday present. I anticipate gaining clarity of life and my path within movement arts.
journal 2
I have romanticized this version of life that is totally nomadic. I took on the idea of expanding my movement practice into geographical movement as well. This has come with many lessons involving the discovering of how important safe space is. I have not had a semi-permanent living situation for over a year now.
I am a bit of a recluse and more introverted. I frequently spend time alone in my room moving, stretching, meditating, reading, and journaling. I have been fortunate enough to have roommates that understood this about me and I have also experienced hostility toward my more isolated tendencies by other roommates. I would love to live alone but I have chosen to inhabit some of the most expensive cities for their arts scene.
Can LA, New York, or San Francisco really be as great as it has always been said to be? Who are these people living and making art in these spaces? How are they getting financed to sustain a beneficial creative environment for themselves and collaborators?
Although living out of my duffle bag in California, New York, and Europe for the past year has been exciting it has also been …enough.
Having a home base is now a top priority and I am making space to be able to have this come to me.
journal 1
The end of the decade approaches and I am inspired to publicize my writing once again.
I used to have a blog but the consistency was lacking and in a moment I decided to delete my glorious 5 posts in an effort to assert more minimalist philosophy.
I keep a hand-written journal. Several. Although I may not write every day, I definitely write a lot. I am trying out the idea of showing this part of my creative/personal process.
Thanks for reading. Here goes.
