Wake me up Lord...when its over

The spiritual, as arranged by Uzee Brown Jr came to mind as I sat at my desk this morning, fatigued from my weekend of concerts with my dance company.

Yea, sorta like this, but discreetly

"The hurly-burly's done, the battle's lost and won..."and what has been gained?
I don't feel the euphoria I thought I would...I just...don't...
My dance season has just ended, and while the shows were awesomely received, and though the costumes were brilliant, choreography loved, dancers lauded...it felt empty
It felt like I was asking myself "is this it?"
what have I learnt about myself this year that I can take from this season? the lengthy rehearsals, fraught nerves, confrontations? I sat this morning at my desk, unable to pass through the day's to do list without going back to and being stuck on this thought cycle...what have I observed? learned? here's what came to mind

-Life is unfair.
-You are not superhuman, you will be injured. it will hurt. REST
-Your integrity is not an external thing, it is YOU. Honour yourself
-People hurt you. People don't always mean to. let it go
-Meditation is active. Practice
-Noone should be able to make you un-love yourself, your abilities, your art.
-It is hard. But you will always be tougher.
-Do not burn yourself out. People who love your presence and don't miss your absence are people who find you replaceable. be prepared for removal at any point
-Never fear loving something, someone, somewhere...be un-ironically Enthusiastic; Love DEEPLY
-Celebrate successes, defeats are easy to sink beneath.
-Loving someone does not excuse their humanity, be understanding

I live. I laugh. I love...and I share

Oh, for a Warm retreat

Tears, depressing changes birthed in deceit, hidden agendas and disrespect...I never thought that this was to've been what I got for this year's last 4 months...I was looking forward to enjoying Christmas...but it seems I am not to have that wish.

*Laments while sad song plays*

I've resolved that despite the darkness that this season has brought, I will fight through it...I need to. and with the light of my family, friends and the love in my heart I will move through this all.

To The Girl-turned-Woman who moved me...

You are beautiful, whole and perfect; the universe's gift to all who are blessed to come into contact with you.

I have wanted to offer my two cents, but feel it would be an insignificant contribution to the outpouring, and so I stand with them, willing my sentiment to permeate the air and that you will know that I support and am awed by you. these four years I have had the distinct honour of being acquainted with you have truly been some of the most noteworthy of my life. As I stood by you that night, I began to muse on just how far our interactions have evolved.. I remember that you were one of the only persons that didn't seem to retreat into yourself in the presence of a certain ballet- mistress (in fact, you were the first to make me laugh at her, but as I MAY have been eavesdropping that one time, I wont tell you that). I immediately thought two things; you will come to be better when her time passes, or, that  you will perpetuate her stoic icy reign in the macabre system that was apparently "how things were done" in the Company. I am glad to say, your batch's seniority and leadership is looked on as a time of the best in relation between company members across lines of senior/junior and male/female.

Throughout all this, my first two years, I observed, pleased, but silent. A silence that did not last much longer, as it is well known that when one of your closest friends is Mr R.V. McKenzie, sociable isn't a choice, its a non-negotiable consequence.

I Never knew I'd be a dancer or that I'd've met you...seeing this recently I'm reminded
the world is a very small place :)

I always wondered why you seemed not to want to teach when a piece was remounted, but in the end never questioned it (which was probably wise, my mouth seems to have no filter and knowing my dunce ways I might've sounded like I was judging). but I am grateful you gave me an intimate view of life as an architecture student, and gained me a new-found appreciation for not only you and your balance, but to another friend's struggle and concern. Jo-Ann, I was amazed at the workload, and awed you took very little break, all day at studio to change scenery for another studio only to go back and burn midnight oil. I watched...you were phenomenal (This was around the time of that UTech Vid en pointe...you were EVERYTHING!).

I was beginning to feel like my vocal cords wouldn't rupture if I dared speak to you unbidden, and I struck up (on my part) an uneasy acquaintanceship (I was still quite terrified of you). and slowly, I was made party to the group of persons who stood in the awesome space of friend and fan of the incomparable 'Jo'.

Then the unthinkable happened...Sir was setting a new work on us...and you chose me as your partner...

*Pause, while I again recover from being starstruck*

You probably didn't know that by simply choosing to be my partner you ensured I would work the hardest I had worked in dance up to this point. I. Was. Floored...and to this day, it produced my favourite artistic shot of me in life... and I will always have you to thank for it

you went past the platitudes other senior girls would usually say to us supporting men, and showed that you ACTUALLY trusted us, that we were worth something to the continuity and growth, the image of the Company Dance Theatre...

This year, with the lineup of such a varied undertaking, we were all excited and a little bit afraid of the mammoth task. I was worried that you were not as present as before, but was confident you would return, star up class and then go on to take the stage. you then returned from  hiatus, and all progressed(smoothly is not the word one uses for this period, so I'll simply say progressed). 

Then you repeated the untinkable: in remounting the ballet RoseHall, you chose me...not once, but TWICE to be your partner...my glad bag jus' buss! I felt I had come full circle, that I did something right if I were worthy to be chosen again.

If you'll notice I have glossed over the negative bits, the espionage, the whisperings, mutterings and flare up that have caused this moment. I do so because they were to have been immaterial...and I somehow fear if it were anyone else, they would have been...Life, however, chooses who to be fair to.

I could join in the persons who decry and scream their resentment, raising my voice in protest...but I have never been a good orator, in fact, I don't think I communicate well at all...but I am standing there. I am standing there waiting to see you again recover from that fall, from the landing, from that moment of unexplained incident...I am waiting to be in awe again...the stage is not the same without you, and there is a heaviness that will remain with me until it has welcomed you back...

until then...I am Waiting. in the wings, in the audience, on my feet...I am waiting

Short Story

     "The Lord is risen."
     "He is risen indeed. Alleluia!" The congregation beamed at their new priest, a beatific expression on his face. Reveling in their admiration, proceeded to give a passionate (if a bit halted) sermon on the concepts of faith and doubt. Matthew, seated behind the lectern on the rostrum, stifled a yawn, shifting to discreetly wipe his eye on the sleeve of his starched white acolyte's robe. He glanced down at the floor, bathed in the colourful light from the stained glass window above and behind him. startled from his reverie by a blare of voices, he was forced back into the awareness of his surroundings by the choral wall of sound slamming him in the face and eardrums from the all too near speakers before him, their feed from the choir loft opposite him. "Typical," he thought with a wry chuckle "that on resurrection Sunday the choir chooses a song that is almost totally unrelated to the observance." This service, they decided to butcher Randall Stroope's "The Conversion of Saul". one of his favourite A Cappella anthems. he did an inward cringe that very nearly became external. schooling his face into what he hoped was an appropriately reverent expression, he continued to muse "I can see why the new churches shout, God would probably have on earmuffs permanently after innumerable Sundays like this." he chuckled at his own joke, glancing up to the choir loft, following the exuberant gestures of the group's director, the aging but surprisingly robust Mr Deacon Dean. He chuckled again, almost chortling suppressed into a snort. At the final "Alleluia!" of the anthem; a warped, jagged and much flattened chord ringing through the chapel, aresounding "AMEN!" sounded from the congregation: whether to communicate their relief or one of congratulation was a matter of opinion (it wasn't).
      At the end of the benediction, Matthew took the cruciform back to the altar and proceeded to the changing room to remove the "linens of office" and again become "just Matt", holding off his canonization another week (another chuckle)

of Friends, Easter, and the gift of Music...Palm Sunday

SO...for Palm Sunday two friends of mine decided to perform two solos of mine for a concert of psalms held at the Barbican Baptist Church, where Peter's (the tenor soloist) dad is the choirmaster. they chose the tenor and bass solos from my choral work A Cycle of Psalms.  despite the issues with accompaniment and anxiety as well as other technical difficulties (the peron who videotaped it was a bit...Lax...with getting introduction and keeping the camera on the singer lol) They were good performances and I was honoured that they did my work, giving an aural component to the scribblings on a page. Here they are, Messrs. Peter Dawes and Michael Sutherland (Bass) singing Psalm 43 and 13 respectively, "Judge Me O God" and "Lord How Long Wilt thou Forget Me?" from A Cycle of Psalms

 

Short story...

I walk through the rusted gates into lands I've always known. it is dark, and the penlight I take with me creates more mystery than its absence would have. a rustling to my left elicits a jerky arc, and I send my spotlight into the hedge that goes up to my knee, a ball of fur bolts between my legs, and a whine and yip of amiable excitement placate my spiked pulse...
"Oscar, why're you out here buddy? who let you out?" I get on my knees and ruffle his auburn fur, and pat his muzzle...it doesn't occur to me to be suspicious that Oscar died the previous year of old age, and had by that time had grey hairs in his mated fur, and was too lame to gambol as he now did... but then, it never occurred to me that I could share his status; that I could be deceased as well. I took it for granted that I should be at my full height of 6 feet, standing without the aid of crutch or post, when I had spent 5 years prior confined to a wheelchair...A wind came in from the west, picking up momentum at my back. urging me forward.
"seems whatever took me here wants me to continue forward...c'mon boy, I'm glad for the company "...

this...This...THISSS!!!

DAMMIT!!! I wholly feel this!  wholly applaud this!!! Big up my friend Toni Blair who communicates exactly what we feel down here!!! Mi nah lie, I watched this and became enraged, I cried with her as well...this is right, whats going on here is utter SLACKNESS!!!!