Saorsa: Internal Dialogue

"Our life expands or contracts in proportion to our courage" ... Read the quote that plays on the record player of my mind as I stand on the edge of the creative process. One, two, three and I jump with a splash into a sea of possibilities. A sea full of discouraging, spikey fish who tell you that your attempts at art are mediocre and fairly useless when compared to the professionality of the work of the more experienced artists with whom you reside and learn and play. And, there, hidden behind the anemone's tentacles, swims a rainbow fish who reminds you that Creating is about taking risks and experimenting and no one ever told you that you had to be perfect on the first attempt to raise a paintbrush to the easel. In fact, no one ever told you you had to be perfect at any point along life's winding road. Being Alive and Being Human means Being, period. Without the need for adjectives -- especially 'perfect' which is not so colorful and interesting anyhow.

I am. And so I jump -- I jump into a theatrical presentation of a journal entry I made just a year ago as I sat on the screen porch of an oversized beach house on the beautiful southern coast of South Carolina. I have been playing with it, tweaking it, changing it, letting it come alive in my hands and underneath my feet as I walk to the rhythm of the words on the stage, on the rocks, on the dirt beneath the great jocote tree. And a dialogue is born into the world. An internal dialogue. Two women that are the same woman; two voices who lose one another and find one another and support and question and ... discover. Discover the magic of opening and blooming into the acceptance of who you are; opening into the limitlessness of true freedom -- the freedom to fall in love with the world and, in so doing, begin to love oneself, away from the mirrors. The laughter that ripples from the wingtips of your song, the tears that result from the depth of Humanness, the fear that comes at the edge of happiness, at the edge of a dream, at the edge of shedding your skin and -- shining.

I want to share it with you. Because art is for sharing. Art is for everyone. Art is not about ownership and copyrights. Let's throw out possessives and just admit that these words are. They are. Born inside of me. From the experiences I have lived and continue to live as the record plays on life's turntable. But, there are no new stories; just different ways of telling, sharing, communicating what it is to live as an Alive, Breathing, Human Being. I present to you -

Saorsa: Internal Dialogue
“Saorsa”, pronounced “seer-sha”, is Irish Gaelic meaning “free•dom” n.
The condition of being free of restraints.
Liberty of the person from slavery, detention, or oppression.
Ease or facility of movement
Frankness or boldness; lack of modesty or reserve


*Should I write the date? Should stale numbers be the first characters to fill the page?

-Numbers are not stale unless you make them that way. Our realities are created by our way of perceiving

*(and our perceptions are created by our realities)

-It’s cyclical. Like so much in life.

*True. Einstein loved numbers and God at the same time. He painted his dreams in numbers and colorful eccentricity; his hair standing on end as Universe magic fed his spirited-Mind.

-So, are you going to write the date?

*Yea, I suppose so. May 30, 2009. Maybe someday I’ll want to know.

+Beauty is a feeling more than a reflection when you learn to love yourself.

-So, you feel beautiful?

*Yea. I do. I walked away from the mirrors, fell through the looking glass, met a symphony of poets, dancers, teachers, activists, musicians, mothers, brothers, sisters, playmates, demons, angels, drumbeats, silent winds, desert wildflowers and began to breathe.

*Began to breathe -which led to singing. *Began to sing -which led to dancing. *Began to dance -which led to falling in love with the world. *Fell in love with the world and began +to love myself.

*Yes, I learned to love myself away from the mirrors - feeling Alive (-Alive) in the beat of the drum, feeling youthful (-Youthful) in the turn of the cartwheel, strong (-strong) in the pulse of the run, fertile (-fertile) in the curve of the hula-hoop, wild (-wild) in the sweat of naked desert love-making, calm (-calm) in the loving quiet of morning meditation, grateful (-grateful) for the opening of my pores, my heart, my soul to the nectar of this life.

*I am –woman. I am -goddess. Goddess lives in me. She is so happy to break free of her chains. She cannot keep from dancing. She knows the music will slow eventually. She knows she will grow thirsty and want to sit and rub her tired feet.

-But she is not living there, now.

*She is living Here - in the Rhythm. Dancing.

-You are goddess. You are glowing.

* (Smile) I feel the warmth. I needn´t consult the mirror. The edges of my smile and the fluttering wings in my heart are better reflections of how I feel. Beautiful. Thankful. +Free.
___________________________

*You saw the embers glowing,
deep within my soul.
Your breath, a warm breeze from the West
came to Dance among the simmering coals.
Smelling of salt and cinnamon,
you blew a kiss and ignited the fire in me.
I am on fire.
Glowing.
Like Lady Moon,
unfraid to walk naked in the night.
I am on fire.
The world smiles upon the
rosy blush of lovers´cheeks.
And I smile back.

*There is a necessary pause after "lovers´cheeks, before smiling into the last line.
- Read silently, the poem is mediocre.
*Yet, spoken aloud, there is a taste of sweetness on my lips. Could I communicate the decadent sensations I feel in my soul to an audience of young lovers like myself? Could I share the heat that this western Rhythmaker stirs up in me as it blows breezy and kind through the screen porch?
-No.
*Not in the way I feel it. I would have to start speaking and discover what spices I release - a new word, a verse, a more full-bodied, sexy version of this simple picture of a heart.

-Enough circular talk. Who is this Western Breeze? Who is the Rhythmaker?

*I am glad you ask. I do not want to forget. I do not want this energy to evaporate from my body and scatter to the clouds before I try and explain the way it swept me off my feet so unexpectedly. Actually, it is fair to say we swept each other off our feet. +Unexpectedly.

(Pause)

-Where did you go? Do not be afraid. You don´t have to speak. Just write. Take the lid off and pour a stream of you onto these pages …as quickly or as slowly as feels natural.

*My body pulses. A buzz of electricity just under my skin keeps me from sleeping.

-So, what do you do with this energy?

*I reach out. I reach out to the Rhythmaker. West coast lover whose drumbeats vibrate in me - bouncing around my chest cavity like an echo in a canyon.

-You channel your energy where? Why not sit with the moon and tell her your breathless story?

*I do sit with the moon. I sit with you, hands on my heart, asking to temper the pulse in me. Asking for strength to ground myself in the present moment, without wild thoughts of running away; running away from my muse; climbing out the window into the night.

-and you pulse still

We run and jump wildly with wide eyes and inspired smiles … playing with our conjoined skirt, feeling each others weight, pulling and pushing until at last we bump into each other, stop, look out upon the world, upon nuestro camino and say:

*I pulse still.

And there we stand, gazing out upon the world with fire eyes -- possessed by a passion for living, a sensation of freedom so strong that it sweeps you off your feet like a tumble-weed and your curls dance themselves into knots and your skin kisses the sun and you find your way out of the tumble until you are driving yourself and finding your way, seeing the light, living in the flow, Being ... Learning to be comfortable with uncertainty, comfortable with insecurity, Invigorated by the sun, moon, stars (cliche, yes, but we too often forget to recognize the abundance all around. In simplicity. In the stars that give life through their glow. We too often forget to open our pores and Receive our blessings, or we are too afraid of what might happen). We stand there gazing out upon the world feeling thankful and awake.

And so, there it is. A piece about connecting the dots to find your own internal dialogue, to discover the evolving conversation within your being. Imagine this as a stage piece presented more abstractly: many words left out, a certain nonsensicality, jumping around, acting as our mind does -- here there and everywhere. Everyone in the audiene participates in the creation of the piece, fills in the blanks, the blanks of this journal entry that dared to become something for sharing.