occupy life

(Sigh.) Another theater season has drawn to a close in our local high school. They did a bang up job putting on Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. And we survived. My lack of a post last week was due to the fact that we were just surviving the process, but now, a few days out, I can look back and enjoy the ride.occupy teacup 2

Theater is a high impact, comprehensive, creative, full body sport. I love it. When I was in high school, it was one of my ambitions to play Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ Superstar, on Broadway, or someplace similar. (Thankfully, I have let that particular ambition slide.)

It didn’t take much time in New York City for me to realize I would rather be in the woods than on the stage. The theater of life is sufficient. But that doesn’t stop me from still loving the process of live stage drama. So, I got a little bit involved.

The directors of the local theater program are really excellent folks with good taste in vegetables (we supply their families) and we had long talked about yoga with the theater kids. I started leading their warm ups at one rehearsal each week.

It was so much fun. I’m hoping that the kids enjoyed it at least half as much as I did. Working with them, and watching them develop this performance has been a really special experience for me. Love of my daughter, the stage, and the local kids all collided in one great opportunity. I really want these young folks to get a sense of their own power, and to practice a waking awareness of their own bodies and selves. See, in order to convince someone in the audience that you are not yourself, you have to use every piece of yourself – every gesture, every breath, each movement – and so you need an acute awareness and control over yourself. I want them to know where their hands and feet are at all times – to feel the weight of their precious heads on their shoulders and use it well. I want them to use their whole bodies and their whole minds, and to learn how to work hard without hurting themselves in the process.  occupy kids

Those teenage years are so freakin’ intense. Young people have enormous amounts of energy – emotionally, intellectually, physically – and it is in the best interest of all involved for that energy to be used well. There’s a tremendous focus on sports-related activities in our local schools (which is a fine outlet) and the theater gives an outlet to those who aren’t so inclined to the playing field.

Watching them take their final bow on closing night brought back vivid memories of those wonderful intense sensations – the heat of the lights, the bond with fellow players, the exhilaration and corresponding exhaustion. A theater production crew creates something altogether new with their combined efforts whether great or small, and shares that creation with the community. Whatever the character of their shared creation, if it grabs us, the audience, and takes us along for the ride, it is successful.occupy teacup

Of course, when my personal favorite purple tea cup takes the stage, I can’t pay very much attention to the rest of the action. That’s the nature of parenthood I suppose, but besides that, I appreciate seeing her be a piece of the whole production process. As exhausting as it is, I do believe in it. (I’ll believe in it even more when she’s older and can drive herself to rehearsal, but…)occupy kids 1

Then there was the bomb threat.

Yes, that’s right, a bomb threat, right here in the middle of nowhere. It was a fake, of course, perpetrated probably by a student hoping to get out of school early, but the authorities had no choice but to take it seriously and lock down the school for a night. And that in turn meant canceling that night’s performance and re-scheduling it later, which was a major bummer for the kids who had worked so hard for months to put this show together.

My initial reaction to hearing the word “bomb” connected to any place my children will be is to remove them from that place, perhaps permanently.

But after that reaction came and went, I got to thinking a little harder about it all.

First I thought about this place – the rural south – where we have come home and chosen to raise our children. I wasn’t born here, but have lived here since I was a little baby. I’m still not considered “local” and probably my children won’t be either, even though they are among the tiny minority of people actually born in this county. Part of why I like it here is that there is a staying power to the people. Walking the halls of the high school on the closing night of the play, I looked at the faces of the graduates dating back into the 1930’s. The surnames are still familiar – there are generations of people who have stayed right here. They know each other through deeply woven connections and generations of family ties. To my way of thinking, this gives the local society a level of accountability that is hard to find in the scattered social disconnect of suburban sprawl. There are problems, too, of course. There are “good old boy” networks and prejudices that sometimes send me screaming. But there is a sweet, deep beating heart beneath all of that. And that’s what will keep a community whole, a place where you don’t ever, in your wildest dreams, expect to hear the words “bomb threat”. And that’s part of why we are still here.

There is a tendency among a growing number of us to want to ditch civilization at large. I am definitely prone to that kind of thinking. There are times that I would like nothing more than to take my family deep into the primeval forest and stay there, where there are no bomb threats, no standardized tests, no blinking screens and ticking clocks and nightly news and faceschmuk.

But if I hold my gaze firm I come to know that there is no running away. There is no perfect place. What I want is a better world, a world without bomb threats and school shootings, among many things. It is feasible that my Fellow Man and I could perhaps create enough of a bubble around ourselves to make the world better for OUR kids, which would be great, but it’s not the whole picture.

I believe that when part of humanity suffers, we all suffer in some way. Our suffering, in our comfortable homes and with our creature comforts may be indirect and subtle. It may manifest in the crude sort of alienation that leads young people to make false bomb threats. But that doesn’t make the suffering any less real.

I want to do things that make the whole world a better place. Your world, my world, OUR world. This doesn’t mean I’m joining Doctors Without Borders (a WONDERFUL organization). That’s not my calling. My work, for now is simply to not run away – to stay here and occupy this world, at home.

I believe that if we were to pay more attention to the places we occupy – our bodies, our homes, our communities – then these places will be improved. They will not be improved while our attention remains glued to the high speed screens that try to sell us what they say we ought to be.

I’ve heard it said that the footsteps of the farmer are the best fertilizer. That’s not a statement about compressing the soil – it’s about paying attention. Our worlds, large and small, need our attention, as they are right now, in pain and sickness and pleasure and plenty, to heal and to thrive. Nothing will get better if we ditch now. Nothing will improve without our heartfelt, focused, creative attention.

That’s a lot to pack into a yoga class with some teenagers, I know. Sometimes people get a funny look on their face when I say to a class, “feel your feet on the ground”. Maybe they’re thinking that this yoga teacher is just nuts. Or maybe they’re feeling the soles of their feet in a way they hadn’t noticed before. Maybe they can carry that new sense of the soles of their feet out on the stage in the stride of some character that will make us all laugh our heads off. Maybe they will carry that sensation into their lives and use it to help them stay awake for all the beauty in store for them if they look for it, and create it. I hope so, cause that’s what I’m talking about.

The kids in the theater production occupied every inch of that stage to make that awesome performance. They connected to the creative process, and each other, and they shared it with us. We gave them back a lot of love and appreciation in return, and for this period of time, in this little town, that lively exchange made our world a very good place.occupy kids 2

small roads

small roadThis corner of the world was such a small place when I was a child. Relatively, it still is I guess, but for those of us who have been watching for awhile, the growth seems tremendous. Most folks knew each other, and it wasn’t too hard, even if you happened to dial a wrong number, to figure out who you accidentally called instead and have a nice chat with them.

Likewise, there were no big roads. Not only were the roads small, they were usually winding, too. Guard rails were few and far between, and lots of curves were blind with a blasted stone face on one side and some kind of steep drop off on the other. When driving, we had to watch out for ourselves, and one another.

One thing that used to be common practice here was the steering-wheel-wave. As two cars approached each other on one of these two lane roads, the drivers acknowledged each other by lifting an index finger, or one hand, off the steering wheel. It was just an acknowledgment. I see you. We are sharing the road. Some of the old timers would out and out wave at cars going by, particularly if they seemed to be driven by friends or kin of theirs.

We used to laugh at it as teenagers. Those quaint, small town habits seemed silly in those years, but of course, we picked up the habit too. I nearly caused a couple of wrecks lifting index fingers at folks going by in metropolitan areas in other parts in the country. My fellow drivers didn’t seem to understand that my gesture was friendly.

As time has gone by, some of our roads have widened. The big highway going through the county east/west particularly. Because of this big road, what was a once a 45 minute drive from our little hamlet to the county seat now takes less than half an hour. It has led us to feel more connected to the places that once may have seemed a bit distant. There are up-sides and down-sides to that perception that I won’t tackle here. It has also increased the amount of big rig trucks on our roads, and it has decreased the amount that we acknowledge our fellow drivers.

It’s just harder to register the people in the car hurdling toward you at 55-60 (or more) miles per hour. You might have known who they were, but by the time you recognize them, they’re long gone. There’s more room to avoid each other, and less space to a acknowledge one another. More people have moved here from different places. Our population has grown. The old codes of conduct do not necessarily hold.

But they are not gone altogether.

I ventured out into town one day during the thick of the snow and ice that had us in its grip. The big road was clear, but the side and back roads were still veritably sheets of ice, even in town. And the steering-wheel wave had returned. People were looking out for each other. We had all slowed down, and we were all paying attention.

As cold as it was, and is again, now that four more inches of snow has graced us, I am warmed by this. For as much as civilization as a whole can sometimes look like a failing experiment, when I can meet the eye of my fellow traveler and exchange an understanding that we both deserve safe passage, I can still believe in community. And I’m grateful to live in this one.small roads 2