War, Snicker Bites, and Joy

I wrote a couple of weeks ago that, for the first time in a long time, I was going to do some things for Lent. When I was more of a practicing sort of Catholic (though in my own wonky ways, as you all know), Lent was actually one of my favorite times of the year.

Which sounds like a weird thing to say but I loved the 40 days set aside for deep diving into our own inner dark caves (as a priest in Erie put it one time). This was a time for me to seriously up my daily spiritual practices and to explore the shadow sides of me that had maybe taken over a bit too much.

Over the last few years, I’ve been drowning in a sort of existential despair that has dragged me into total and complete atheism — a place that is really dangerous for my mental health. I know some people create a really happy and meaningful life as atheists. There are many paths in this life. So I’m not knocking atheism but admitting that it is harmful to my own particular psyche.

The world is too dark for me to not believe in anything. My own brain is too dark, actually. I need a place outside of myself to place and practice devotion. For me, that’s usually Our Lady of Guadalupe and other forms of Mary, but it’s also the writings of Thomas Merton and Dorothy Day and writings about Saints Francis and Claire and Hildegarde and Teresa, to name a few.

For this Lent, my first really in many years, I am doing daily morning reading and writing that is focused on this time. I’m trying to be more mindful about my own inner world.

And though I’ve not succeeded, I am, as I wrote, attempting to let go of apathy and lethargy.

Then there’s…

Sugar

This one seems silly and trite, right? Like when we were little and we would give up something we loved. Or how some people see Lent as this weird time to backdoor some toxic eating habits and maybe lose some weight.

I wanted to give up added sugar and chocolate because I was feeling like it was too much in my life. Like I was no longer in charge of it. Like it was no longer a treat.

Also, my family has a lot of diabetes so this was, for me, a reset for my health. Again, a pretty self centered Lenten practice but I felt like I needed that added motivation.

Then Craig said something to me the other day that made me stop and think. He was teasing but it hit me deeper: “What’s gonna happen at the end of Lent? Will you just eat ALL the chocolate?”

If I’m really wanting or needing a reset for my health, then this all or nothing thinking is not helpful, because eventually, I will just land back at ALL.

War and Joy

I had already reevaluated my lenten practice at about day 12, and then this vile and stupid administration decided to put the entire world at an elevated level of danger by starting a war in Western Asia (a more proper way of referring to the Middle East, which is a colonizer term).

There are a lot of reasons to be extra afraid about this war. I won’t go into that all here because that’s not what this space is for. But suffice it to say that this is way worse than is being talked about in mainstream media.

I’m paying attention but I’m also trying not to get too lost in the dark maze of frightening details about what is happening or what could happen.

Because there’s a point that that will just flatten me.

A little bit of compartmentalization can go a long way right now.

Back to sugar…

It struck me that I am living in this state of denying myself joy when we have no idea what tomorrow will bring.

That is always the case, of course, but right now, it feels more … real… more noticeable.

So here’s the conclusion I came to:

We must find bits of joy where we can right now.

For me, that’s a Snickers bite with my second small coffee after lunch. And maybe a second.

We owe ourselves good care. We owe those around us a certain level of care for ourselves too.

Most often that care looks like making sure you’re doing movement practices and spiritual practices and studying that supports your mental and emotional and physical health.

And sometimes that care looks like chocolate.

(Speaking of practices, a new session of Peony Somatic Dance and Quickie Yoga online starts next week so go here to see what’s up and to register.)

And check out my most recent Substack about my migraine journey, neurodivergence, and disability.

I never said this was easy...

And I’m talking to myself there as much as I’m talking to anyone reading this.

Even in the best of times (and I would say we weren’t aware how good the times were before the whole Drumpf era began)… even in the best of times, I’ve never said any of this was easy.

I have tried to be clear: even doing this thing I love more than any other thing I do, even getting my ass into my tights and putting on music and breathing and waiting and allowing for movement to arise, even that is not always easy.

There are days when it is easier, for sure, but most days it is anything but.

And living in this political hellscape has brought depression down upon my head again in ways I never thought would be possible.

So here I am, as if I am at the beginning again, except I don’t have the beginner excitement and curiosity I had the first time around, because, well, that’s just not possible.

I’ve been exploring and creating and teaching this stuff for over 17 years now. I’m not a novice anymore, and though I try to reenter beginner mind, it’s difficult, and it’s especially difficult as we are triggered every day, multiple times a day, by the evil of this administration.

But I’m trying. I’m failing but I keep trying.

I’m trying to find that enthusiasm again. I’m trying to find the joy and the awe and the whimsy.

I fail and I try; I fail and I try; and right now, that’s the best I have.

Recently I made a discovery about a shadow part of myself that I’m not totally proud of and I’m hoping that now that I know it’s there, I can stop failing quite so much. Seeing it is the first step, so go check out my most recent Substack post. And if you haven’t, subscribe because that would be awesome.

A few things you might have missed

I’ll get back to more regular blogs here next week, but this week has been filled with bad sleep and a lot of nightmares. I hope that’s not the same for anyone reading this.

First, I wrote another post over on my Substack, Gladiola. Remember that it’s free to subscribe and will remain so. I am doing deeper writing over there and it feels good. This current piece, Watering Begonias & Singing, is about the importance of having even just one witness when you’re little and things are hard.

Second, another session starts next week, the week of February 9th. I know online doesn’t necessarily feel the same as being in the same room, but I’m so grateful for people who are willing to tolerate that difference because the work means more to them than the tech. Our new Wednesday, 10:15 to 11 AM Peony Somatic Dance has been a successful experiment and will continue to be on the schedule.

And finally, here’s the most recent movement mantra (obviously). Last week someone let me know that they used it for their phone home screen so they’d see it and think about it all through the day. I love that!

Speaking of movement mantras… if there was ever anything I would say in classes that really hit you in a helpful or good way, I’d love to hear so I can maybe use that someday!

Gladiola: my grandmother's garden and a new offering

When I was little, we would spend a lot of Saturday nights at my maternal grandmother’s house and then attend Methodist church with her in the morning. She was a teacher in the Sunday school.

Wilda Vickery Peterson was one of the kindest humans I’ve ever known, and my belief in a social justice warrior sort of Christ really comes from her (to begin with. Later in life, I found Merton and Day and so many Catholic mystics but that’s another story).

My grandmother had a large kitchen and in one section there was a chalkboard, which everyone loved, and a small table surrounded by windows. It almost gave a small sunroom effect.

And I would stand at those windows in the good weather and stare out at her large vegetable garden. What mystified me was this: at the end of that garden, year after year, there were always a couple of rows of gladiolas.

October 1917

Wilda was born in October of 1917. She was born into World War I still raging. She was born as the Bolsheviks were completing their overthrow of the Russian government. She was born mere months before the Spanish flu would explode all over the globe.

She would spend a big chunk of her 20s living through and having her first daughter during WWII. She knew what a victory garden was through direct experience.

And she would live through the rest of the century — past her own century mark — seeing too much change to list here. She would not pass from her human form until June of 2020 at the age of 102 and a half.

I bring all of this up to say that she saw more than what many of us are seeing. She, too, lived through times that felt “unprecedented.” Over and over, actually.

And yet she was covered in and surrounded by flowers on her wedding day.

And she grew those few rows of gladiola every year until her oldest granddaughter could stand and admire them out her kitchen window.

Gladiola — a “magazine” of sorts in her honor

I have been thinking for a couple of years of writing over on Substack. There were reasons why I kept not doing it, but I have satisfied my own sense of what’s right and good and admire so many writers over there that I know it’s time.

I will still write here and will replicate some of what’s here to over there and there will be material over there there’s not here.

I will write about movement and the body, of course, but also my love of literature and flowers and anything else that is feeling like it must be written, anything else that I am geeking out about and need to share for the joy of sharing.

And that space will be called Gladiola: Move. Write. Plant. (Click to go over and check it out and it would be great if you wold subscribe. That space will always remain free of charge.)

I realized that those two rows at the end of that practical vegetable garden are the perfect metaphor for the times we’re living in, when we can sometimes forget that beauty for beauty’s sake still matters. When we can forget that we must also feed the heart and the soul and that sometimes the best food for those things are often materials and experiences we start to think of as “unnecessary.”

Gladiola is also perfect for its meaning. Flowers have carried meaning for as long as humans have loved them, and the gladiola is about strength, resilience, moral integrity, and remembrance. Perfect things for Wilda to have planted in so many ways and a perfect name for what I hope to share.

My larger garden

And for those keeping track, this Gladiola will be part of a growing garden of my work: Peony Somatic Dance, of course, is my core passion and my true work in the world and is named for my soul cat, but there’s also Lillian Rose Movement Project, the name under which I create choreographic community experiences, which is named for my paternal grandmother.

May this garden continue to grow and continue to nurture others.

Movement Mantra Mondays

Every Monday on my Facebook business page and on Instagram, you will be seeing Movement Mantras. I won’t be sharing them all here so be sure to follow me at either of those places to see them.

They are a simple offering, but I think they can be impactful if you actually play with them.

I made these hoping they could provide you with a focus point for the week for your body/mind practices. And though this work will not save us from the rising tide of authoritarianism and the violence in the world, I know it will help use to have the energy to do the things that we need to do… to contribute in the ways that we can.

I’ve started thinking about my work in this way: tools for sanity and joy. Because we still deserve and need both of those things.

Like all the things I teach, these are inherently modified and can be used in a variety of ways. (If you find another way to use one that I’ve not listed, let me know!)

Ways to use Movement Mantras

• You could take these to your meditation. Whether you do seated or walking or some other form (like wrapped in a blanket and hiding out from the world for a few minutes), just add this mantra to your breath pattern and notice what arises.

• Most obviously, you could take the mantra to your somatic dance practice. Put on a piece of instrumental music and start to repeat the mantra over and over. You could say it out loud if you’re in a safe space for that. Notice how it feels in your body and then allow yourself to start moving.

• And you could use these as journal explorations. Start with the mantra at the top of your page and sit back and breathe for a few moments. Then start writing. If you get stuck, write the mantra over and over until something comes up.

No matter how you use them (and I suggest mixing it up), try using them throughout your week to see how the experience of them transforms over the days.

Back at it: daily dance and the problem of boredom

Though I had a week with an exhausting head cold that interrupted my new routine, I have been getting back to daily dance. I have been managing a half hour. And for working by myself, this is a good start amount.

In the recent past when I’ve tried to do this, I immediately feel a deep boredom, so I thought back to my practices years ago and came up with a couple of…

Key “rules”

• I can’t force myself into using music that I think I “should.” Yes, even I have this issue. I go into practice thinking I “need” to work on serious pieces. Nope. Whatever works is the best thing.

• So I’ve been using a lot of pop music for now. Like this list and also this list that triggers joy molecules from my tween years at the skating rink.

• And the most important rule of all: the second I feel bored with the music and/or my movement, I change the song. Sometimes that means fast-forwarding through a few songs at a time, waiting for my body to respond.

• Finally, I always start with seated tummy circles, like I start just about every single class I teach. Or if I’m feeling extra dull or sad, I start with Mud Body and then go into seated tummy circles. I ritualize the start of my own practice time just like I do classes and this tells my body, here we go, and it grounds me… helps me to let go of work or overthinking.

Other rules to keep in mind about this sort of practice:

• Don’t change your clothes if that’s getting in the way. Dance in whatever you’re wearing. Or maybe only change your pants. (I do that one a LOT.)

• Don’t fret about space. You can dance in a closet.

• Set time goals for yourself but don’t force it. But also don’t just give up. Find that delicate balance between the two.

• Maybe find a friend (like me!) who could help you with accountability.

• If you hear a song while you’re driving or doing something else that gets an immediate response from your body, make sure to put that on a list.

Let me know if you have any issues with getting into a daily practice or if there are any questions I can help you with.

Is my work even needed right now?

Trust me… I spend a lot of time thinking about the necessity of my work in our current context. I question the need and if it’s trivial or even frivolous.

Thankfully I have some good people in my circles who pull me back from that.

In particular, Linda Soto (whom many of you know), said something during one of my most recent moments of despair that has stuck with me and seems the clearest YES to my work:

What I do (and what she does) is TRIAGE.

Life is really hard right now, and if you’re paying attention at all (and really, that is the most basic thing we should all be doing at this point), you’re probably often feeling really beat up. Injured. Traumatized.

And we can’t function at our highest levels from those states, and we need to be functioning from our highest levels right now. All of us. With each and every one of our gifts.

Not everyone is made to or capable of going out and protesting in the streets but we all have something that is needed.

That’s where my work comes in.

You need to take time to process. To feel. To rest. To restore. And to feel some joy in community because joy is sustaining.

As usual, I’m running Quickie Kundalini yoga and a Thursday evening Peony Somatic Dance, but I’ve also added a 45 minute Wednesday mid morning Peony class.

Go here for more info and registration.

And if you know anyone who needs this work, please pass it along.

Special Event at OSU Open to the Public

That was a strange headline to write for this Penn State girl, that’s for sure! I almost couldn’t! HA

But I do live in enemy territory, I mean, Columbus… mere blocks from the campus. And I’ve been invited to lead a really cool somatic break during finals week that is also open to the wider public. Free. Just register here. (Make sure to register soon because we’re limiting the number and it’s filling.)

The super cool part of this is that I’m leading it in a great black box theatre space inside the Wexner Center for the Arts.

Craig and I attended a dance piece here about three years ago and I told him it was a space like I DREAM of teaching and working in and so here we are (photo from that time).