As I said in my previous post, the character lives in a post-apocalyptic world, alone. Many propositions present themselves in this premise. What does she do with her time? How/what does she eat? Where does she live? What items does she draw near to her? What tools does she use? It goes on. In a way, the story could elicit a popular question, “If you could have or do anything, no limits, what would you choose?”

Yet, this character does not have anything she wants. She has many limits. Also, she is full aware of the interconnectedness of people, of living beings, and of the interdependence of beings and the planet. Even if she never sees another human, she is keenly aware of others’ impact on her life.

As I enter this ‘made up world’ each day, it becomes clear that there are few lines of distinction between the world I am creating and the present one I inhabit, here in the United States, twenty-first century. I allow myself to see through the character’s eyes while traveling about my day, and I allow the character to see through my eyes in her world. This, I begin to realize, is a practice of peace building. What’s more, having chosen to create this world and this play has transformed me. (Well…the transformation continues.)

I must admit. Inviting such a dual view of the world creates tension. I cannot share with my friends the views of a character from the future, and really does not ‘exist’. Likewise, I cannot fully believe what I observe when I view from the point of view of my character. Lucky for me, I am a trained professional. I can inhabit multiple worlds simultaneously, while seeing my own hand type on the keyboard, and wondering what I will eat for lunch. Yet, it occurs to me to share some of my journey with my ‘audience,’ because peace building is important to me.

Allow me to attempt an analogy. The other day I was invited to dinner at a friend’s house. As happens most of the time, these days, the conversation found its way to a talk about the ‘economy’ and our serious situation, national debt, no taxes for the rich, times are tough, it is impossible, what to do…?” Also as happens most of the time, these days, there is a general sense of despair, even of oppression, and a concomitant resignation. “That’s the way it is.” So, I’m listening to very interesting, smart and educated people tell me that money and economy is this and this…a finite entity…. I listen. I ask questions. What are some solutions? What can we do now? One guest cannot get past my statement, “I do not agree that wealth is finite. So, can we move on from this point? Can we continue to discuss the situation, talk about solutions?”

Meanwhile, I am thinking about my character. She must travel two days to walk to a contraption she has singlehandedly built to catch rainwater, boil it, purify it, and carry it back to her dwelling. I am thinking about her tenacity, her daily problems and how she plows through them. Also, I am holding the space for this conversation, genuinely wanting to get to the plowing-through part. My character cannot fathom this information: “Wealth is finite.” This is not her truth. This is not my truth.

“How can we talk if you disagree with me about something that is a fact and you do not understand?”

I search my mind for peaceful navigation tools, feeling that familiar tension which presents itself when people come to a point of conflict. I am afraid, dear reader, I came up short.

“There is a difference between being right and being helpful.”

In my experience, people are often committed to being right, rather than sharing their ideas, listening to one another, and entering into a dialogue about that which has not yet been created. I often feel frustrated when conversations reach this sort of impasse. I wonder how change can happen, how solutions can be found and implemented.

I realize that I am making a big assumption- People want to change, find solutions and implement them. Okay, I am humbled as I imagine that my assumption may be naive.

I offer it as an inquiry. I do not suppose I know other people’s truths. I also blocked that conversation, because I wanted something. I wanted discourse. I wanted suggestions. I wanted insight. I was not willing to listen to finality and complaint. Harsh words, I suppose, and I fully admit my culpability in another thwarted attempt at peaceful communication. You, see, what I have come to understand, what my character knows somewhat more deeply than I, is that none of us is ‘right.’ We all hold a piece of wisdom and many pieces of group agreement, of resignation. She knows first hand what the cumulative effect of non-peaceful actions has created in the future.

So, I share this story as a gesture of peace, and as a way to building discourse.

On another note, I am happy to announce that I am collaborating with New Mexico actor Tom Schuch on a production of Connor MacPherson’s “St. Nicholas.” This is a one character play, about the somewhat strange comings and goings of an Irish art critic. More about the story later…. Mr. Schuch and I have worked together previously as actors and teachers. Tom is a company member of Albuquerque’s Mother Road Theatre and also tours the country as an actor, in one-character shows.

With this production we are going to document our creative process and offer workshops around skills and themes inspired by the show. Hopefully our first videocast will be up online soon.

Thanks for checking in.

Karen

“Before the End: A Post-Apocalyptic Dance Opera”

The story came to me a few years after the World Trade Towers in New York City were attacked, we (Americans) had started down the path of “what do we do when the tower falls?” I found myself inhabiting a deep future, so deep that it resembled many pasts. In this time space I walked upon the earth alone, seeking companionship, gathering remnants of myriad civilizations, seeking clues. In the studio I followed impulses that came from my marrow, and found myself replicating ancient gestures of war, ritual, manual labor, celebration, confusion and primal desire. In my journal I recorded songs, pujas and myths, while researching their contemporary counterparts.

As with many intimate relationships, I feel that I have only scratched the surface of this piece. It has been performed and reworked several times. Next month I will present a version in a festival of one-person shows. SOLOFEST 2011 is hosted by The Filling Station, a garage-turned-theatre in Albuquerque, NM. http://www.fillingstationabq.com/

When I composed my application for the festival producers, I found myself writing, ” This piece resonates for me as a kind of love letter to the world.” I wasn’t at all sure what I meant by that. So, I see this blog as an opportunity to discover how to make something with this tool (the WWW) I often take for granted.

That being said, today I’d like to share with you some back story about the title. “Before the End”, or “Before Completion” is the common translation of the 64th and last hexagram in the IChing, Book of Changes. For those of you who I’ve not met, I’d like to say that the work I  eventually present to the public grows out of my bush-wacking through dark and murky, esoteric and/or otherworldly realms. Again, you can interpret this however you wish. Basically, the last hexagram describes a time when there is preparation needed to shift from chaos to order. Energies are poised to affect this important and natural progression. However, as with all movements of sentient beings, our actions may or may not aid to attain the goal. I’d like to invite you to do a little  web research, and read a few lovely interpretations of the hexagram. One of my favorites comes from a site called, The Abysmal. Check in out:   http://theabysmal.wordpress.com/2006/10/27/i-ching-hexagram-64/.  You can google- “IChing Hexagram 64″.

I love to read many people’s interpretations of fables, myths and the IChing. It is fascinating to see which images and qualities of ancient stories resonate with different people Also, it helps me to chew and taste qualities of realities that we currently agree to  believe.

The character in “Before the End” may well be the last human. Although she lived with a small tribe of people as a child, she has solely inhabited a barren and fetid earth for many years. I won’t go into detail about the plot today, except to say that her journey and destiny is to find peace and order in the chaos that is her inheritance. She must discover this proposition. Then, she must accept it and prepare for a new cycle in the eternal dance of death and rebirth.

Shall I say more or shall I patiently allow our relationship to develop with heartfelt gestures of friendship and communication? After over 30 years working in the performing arts, I cannot say that I fully understand the nature of my relationship to the audience or my milieu. Ironically, the inciting incident which sparked my desire for intimacy and commitment in this primary relationship was my response to our shared national ‘tragedy’, to enter a mythical future and discover what is important when what we all held so dear was long ago destroyed.

Thanks for checking in. I have lots to do to build this version for the festival, as it is less than 3 weeks away. I cannot promise that I will write many posts before opening. Yet, if it comes to pass that many of you read this and add comments or questions, I will do my best to respond. It is my intention to create an ongoing alliance, sharing ideas and process, toward the aim of enriching the theatrical experience of shared time and space, via this vehicle of instant messaging.

Ciao,

Karen

Before the End, by Karen Fox, © 2006

Summary:

Akirame is the last person in the world in this post-apocalyptic musical poetry play. In this segment, she explains to the audience why she is burning books-

AKIRAME

Fire books do not burn so well. They provide warm embers through the night, good for sleeping indoors. The people decided that reading was not necessary, and voted to stop teaching it to the young. There were so many to be found and the trees were gone. It was a practical choice. (pause) Some of the elders said that books were used as opiates, shackles, locks. I didn’t know what they were talking about.

Akirame goes inside. Puts books into pit, lights them. She lies on her bed roll, restless. She cannot sleep. She goes to the door, peeks. Goes back to bed. Can’t rest. She gets up and opens the door.

AKIRAME

Amal taught me. He brought me with him when it was his turn to gather fire books. He was old and I helped him carry them. When he opened their spines, fire rose in his eyes. He spoke wonderful, terrible words. So many pictures came into my head. Sensations heated my body. I asked him to teach me. It was our secret. Before he died, he shared another.  He had laid words into fire books. ‘Poetry,’ he called them. A black hole lodged in his throat when the people voted to stop reading. His silence was heavy. Years later, when there was food to cook, we made a special outdoor fire. Amal drew pictures with a stick in the sand, delighting the children. The people thought he was losing his mind strength. He was making poetry.

She runs back into the house. Gets books from hiding place. Comes back out with books.

AKIRAME

This one I keep. (It is the collected works of Shakespeare.) I’ve read some passages so many times that the black ink has joined the ancestors. I remember them even so. It is my job. In this are many ways of people. And the words are put easily to song.

She sings.

“Full fathom five thy father lies

Of his bones are coral made

Those are pearls that were his eyes

Nothing of him doth fade.

But doth suffer a sea change

Into something rich and strange.” Akirame closes Shakespeare and opens another book.

This one holds special content. She takes out a perfectly preserved oak leaf.

Ketli sunder legache!

Harika! Vacker! Piekny!

Zuri! Frumos! Mool! Migoto!

Beaux! Bella! Belo! Bellissimo!

She carefully replaces the leaf.

I had almost forgotten about Amal. Wonders never cease! Good night.

Oh, as the sun reaches down to meet the sea

fingers lusty and bright, blood so deep

seeps into my winter fleece

like a vine I wind around all

who bring me closer to his yellow cheek

and they to me, as we seek our brawn

in each curling step of constant dawn.

Ah, as the moon softly cloaks my eyes

I glisten bend embrace, with wonder and delight

her milky hips roam so lithe

as she skinny dips in her own sultry dance

each wave an unguent that insinuates into airy night

her ivory arms tenderly caress the foam

the humus and me, her once and future home.

Ooh la la, I sing each passing

each rhythm of tides I drink

to the sweet memory of strangers and allies

who tread the briny brink,

walked the desert dry

tunneled through caverns, alighted

and joined in flight.

Twinkly eyes spread out upon the evening’s robes

beckon taunt and wink, to all who open

even for a blink.

Rays of promise hearken, intent to find

creepers, born of wanting and giving back in kind.

Now,  I pledge my love for you dear friend

and penned this song

to be sung when next we meet

(you know I will extemporize)

May we always share our hearts

our lives and visions.

I am happy to come to you

or you to me or perhaps,

there is a compromise,

some other provision?

© 2010 by Karen Fox

You are the fire that I buried.

How did you unearth me?

I cannot tell where you end and I begin.

Or is it the other way round?

The closer you come,

The more I melt into you

You into me

The fire is fluid as its sister.

I am crystalline again, and in the dancing flames

I hear the whale song of your own reflection

also a sacred gem.

The sweet mystery flows.

fire wood, drift wood, sparks, bubbles, lapping waves

Hearth fires blazing to the sea.

What can be said of fear?

Oh, it is so large, that I only see its hem.

It is so large I cannot see it at all.

It is so quiet that I must remind myself that it is listening.

It is so loud, that all I hear is background noise.

It is so powerful I do not remember when it first arrived.

It is so meek, that I must hold it up, constantly.

Oh, and it knows me well. It taunts me when I come close to that which I most love.

What can be said of destiny?

Good question.

What can be said of destiny.

Alright.

What can be said of destiny.

Before I was born, I was everything.

When I was born, I poured myself into limits.

The laces of my cloth flounce in the wind

And I shake myself about to see them dance.

When tired, I focus on the tight undergarments.

When exhilarated, I have a faint memory of having been everything.

I would not be caught without my suit of limitations.

It provides entry to the most interesting adventures.

I am giving a little back story so that I can share how I came to see the ways of distraction. Suffice it to say that I have been in a deep process of self observation for several years. Also, I have recently moved from one city to another, thereby separating myself from familiar people, places and experiences. I had an intention to change my behaviors, change my life.

Pretty much immediately I was challenged to notice my perceptions and reactions to people and events. This has been an intense journey. I would love to write about it, but not today. I will say that I have had a first hand experience of what I think it might have felt like to journey alone through the desert for 4o days and 40 nights, sit under a tree and welcome the demons to tantalize me….if you get my meaning. This is where the metaphors begin and end. I am a contemporary gay woman, living in the U.S. My demons are unique. My demons have the names and faces of family members, lovers, friends. My demons look and sound like me.

I am thankful to the people who have willingly and unconsciously helped me face my own ‘enlightenment’. Without them, I could have continued to smudge my personal imagery so that I could go on believing that demons are others, outside me.

And I have done quite a bit of spelunking…into depths of my self, and also the collective self. There were times that I wanted, truly, to end my life. Again, I will leave this part of the story for another time. I will say for today, that thoughts of suicide did not come from that deep place, as many myths and stories may suggest. These self destructive thoughts are more like a swarm of killer bees, buzzing from, in and around the mind…not the same as depth work at all. Rather, when I got to the suicidal stage, I had wandered too far away from body mind integration, and my thoughts were attempting to save themselves in one last ditch attempt to avoid the overthrow of their power over me. Well, I won. They lost.

It was a fair battle, and I have needed to spend precious time in rest and recovery. And then, as many people throughout history have probably experienced, after fighting inner or outer wars, I must look toward the future. How will I fashion my life, after having endured such a harrowing experience, after having won? How do I pick up the pieces of my life, while building new and inventive aspects with the knowledge gained and all that has been lost in the melee? How can I act graciously toward the losers? (My own thoughts).

And this brings me to the present inquiry. What is my path in the way of distractions?

Come to think of it, I am talking about something that is sooooo personal to me, yet we are all experiencing it on the plane of real war, aren’t we? I love when that type of synchronicity reveals itself. It is Golden.

What do I mean by distractions? Good question. The answer is a vast chasm. Today I want to talk about distraction as a way to avoid my own truth: deflecting my real goals, and veering away from direct interactions with other people, because I am feeling attacked, afraid or unsafe.

There are myriad tactics that I have developed to distract myself. Prioritizing mundane daily chores over passionate adventures or artistic expressions. Looking at my body as an unfinished and inferior beast of burden, rather than a sacred vessel brimming over the with ability to create beauty, experience, relationship, peace, thankfulness and passion. Acting in accordance with the belief that money is power and without it I am powerless. Pining for love and self expression, and then stuffing myself with inner and outer ‘stuff’, so that there is no room for anything or anyone to come in or go out. This is the short list.

Does any of this resonate for you?

What I want to say about distractions is that they are not all bad. I have come to see the inner workings of my reactions and behaviors. I have come to see how they began, how they received positive reinforcement to continue, how they became symbols for my ‘branding’ of my identity and of reality (please refer to the blog, “Reality is a bandwidth…”). I and my thoughts have been supremely creative. Even as I have gone through what some have called ‘enlightenment’, others the ‘dark night of the soul’, I continue to observe my distracting ways. As I observe them, I am thankful to them for having protected me, and for giving me comfort, and for helping me to feel secure. Yet, they are still distractions, the ones that lost the war, and they need to be employed differently in my new inner world order.

As I said, this is a vast chasm to travel in one sitting, and I want to hear from others, who may have been in the wars or are in them now.

The war metaphor seems valuable and I’ll speak through it. Remember I said that I noticed that I use distractions to avoid my own truth. This is another topic worthy of more in depth discussion. For now, I am thinking of how much I have acted from a deep belief that I was unsafe, and could not speak or act out of my own truth. Many of my distracting ways have been employed because I have felt that war is the order of the day. Can I disagree with this person? Can I say what I want? Can I get what I want, even if this person will judge me or hate me, or not get what she wants? Can I hear this other person, really listen? What does she want? What does she want from me? Am I willing to give it? Do I choose to give it? These are all very possible and practical ways. Yet, if I believe that relationships are always hierarchical, and that one must win, while the other loses…

Do you see where I am going? I must respect myself and must respect the other. Also, I must learn to do this within my inner ‘wars’. I must respect my ‘distractions’, not only because they were once mechanisms that I created to protect (and define) myself… also because they present a dialectic. “I can go this way, or I can go this way. Which do I choose? And when I choose- rather than perceiving that I am choosing an authentic way or a distracting way (take away the hierarchy), there is a relationship between the choices that is offering me an opportunity to know myself better. Whichever way I choose, it is I who have chosen, and I who act on the choice and I who I bring with me on the journey. I can respect and listen to my distractions, even as I can respect and listen to another person.

So, distractions are not necessarily taking me away from myself. They may be ways for me to understand aspects of myself that I have not yet come to know or accept.

Whew! This is leading to unchartered territory for me, in that I have not hitherto attempted to verbalize this. So, I hope to get some folks to read this post, and help me- ask questions, share insights and experiences.

Out you go—

Inspiration from the Holy Oak

choose what you will
so that you will
release what you choose
so that you will choose wisely

do this
and not that
leave that
and do this
this is more powerful than that

hold others dear
do not hold others
others are dear
when not held

walk together
until roads part
part together walking
walk together when roads meet
all ways together

dream of day during night
dream of night during day
breathe in each exhale
breath out each inhale
breathe day and night as one
see inhale and exhale as one

be well
drink from the well
give to the well
the well is endless
we are the well

peace

choose what you will
choose wisely

-Bella

I understand the model that we live in a binary plane. We like to structure our bandwidth and say, “This is true, this is false.” It has been done perhaps since we began communication with one another…and to its credit, this practice gives us a range of scope in which we can focus (until someone sees beyond it…

Yet, I do not see this as the deeper or broader reality. I return to the bandwidth metaphor. I once rented an art studio in New Mexico. When I moved in there was a little radio clock that the previous tenant had left. It was such a cute compact object, that I have taken it with me throughout many moves across the U.S. I tend to like to listen to National Public Radio in the morning, which existed somewhere in the high 80’s on the FM band. As I traveled from place to place, I found that what I was picking up was different from place to place. Also, I noticed that I could often find some station that transmitted NPR somewhere in the high 80’s or low 90’s, and I experienced many cultural ‘flavors’ as I drove across the U.S., by listening to smaller radio stations (ones that did not play the same syndicated programming throughout the entire U.S). In each bandwidth I experienced alternate transmissions. To add to this range, I have also had the pleasure to experience transmission from highly powerful short wave radios, which can pick up signals from other countries, when the wind is just right.

So, I see our agreements, once again, intimately connected and interdependent on our ability to see, to focus, and to be aware that the universe is unlimited. I no longer can believe that there are truths and untruths. There are differences of opinion, variations in perception, in ’seeing’, or to respect the metaphor, in “hearing’.

A brash statement. There is only truth. Yet, I am making it, based on my observations, as one who enjoys riding the waves. My friend Jeremiah used to say that everything is fiction. It took me years to understand his gaze. I came to embrace it and then I transformed that into something that was more accepting.

I will love to delve into the minutia of this metaphor, why we make certain stations appear in certain radio waves, how our reality is influenced by the type of radio we listen to, what happens in those radio free zones, you know the ones I am talking about? Does time really stop, or is it too big to fit into our limited view of the time-space continuum?

But I seem to like to end my little comments with questions. I’d love to hear whether it piques your curiosity.

ciao for now,

Karen, a.k.a, Bella

Thanks for the comments. I am learning how to navigate this site.

What is a social bandwidth? Good question. Here is my short answer. I’ll write more later.

As a member of a society, I agree to follow certain rules. For instance, if I am driving and I come to a stop sign, I stop. I have agreed to follow the rules of driving, as set forth by the state government.

Now, this is pretty much how I form my reality as well, as a member of that same society. Yet, the agreements I follow can be by conscious choice, or by subconscious agreement, or by generational, tribal and/or genetic ‘agreement’. I can see this will be difficult to describe in a short comment…

…but for now let me give an example or two.

When I was living in the suburbs as a young girl, the adults raised money to build a baseball field in the empty lot right behind my house. There was great excitement about creating a space where the children could have a place to focus their energy and play a sport, rather than starting fires, which was what happened with great frequency in the empty lot (and probably a few other activities as well). So we all watched as the tall wild grasses were plowed and the diamond was dug out, the building of a neighborhood play venue.

I saved up my money and bought myself a glove. I oiled it, and practiced clutching my hand over rolled up socks, and rocks and whatever I could find.
Then the day came. The baseball diamond was sparkly new, ready to be christened. My brother and a group of his friends gathered at our back yard and jumped the fence, commencing to put together an informal game of baseball.

I watched from the dining room window, and then went upstairs to get my new glove. I walked to the back of our yard, climbed over the fence and walked out onto the field.

My brother hollered from the dugout. “What are you doing?” “I’m going to play”, I responded. The boys looked at one another, a moment of pause, then laughter. “You can’t play, you’re a girl.” A big and fat boy, whose name I have long forgotten, picked me up and threw me back over the fence, my glove still on my hand.

I cried. I went back into the house. I told my mother what had happened. She listened. I thought she would go out and tell them to let me play. But she didn’t. She explained that girls don’t play baseball. I kept crying and repeating, “it’s not fair.” My mother’s response was, “Life isn’t fair.”

So this was reality when I was 8. Years later, when my sister was 7, girls were able to join little league, a baseball league for elementary school aged children. She and my younger brother both played in the league. My sister did not know the reality that I had known. The social reality had changed.

There are many ways that our experience of reality enter us, and often they come in ways that we may not detect with our conscious mind. I will write more about some of these ways, that I have observed. This simple example is one I think we can all see as a parallel for experiences in our lives. As time unfurls, human rights ebb and flow. In hindsight we can intellectually say, this was given, this was taken away. Yet, when we are living it in the moment, it is our social reality. Many of us will accept such mores as reality, will say, “this is the way it is.” Some of us, like that little girl who simply could not understand why girls did not play baseball… will question it, and occasionally confront and change it.

I must end for now…but leave you with something to ponder. When there is an inner tension inside you. You believe that reality is one way, yet in your body there is a tension. You can not align with this reality. Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever questioned its validity? Have you ever dreamed of changing?

I have been in this inquiry into the ways people construct the social bandwidth we call reality. Also, selfishly, I have been wanting to understand what it means to find myself, walk my path, manifest my destiny.

So here is a smattering of little bubbles of revelations, chronicles of my intermittent search, and a baby step toward sharing myself with others.

As a child I used to astral travel in my sleep, and all throughout my life I have been sensitive to what I call other realms of existence, as well as subtleties of my own environment. As I grew older, I was relieved to find that the bandwidth, the ‘reality channel’, changes with region, culture, religion and across history. Being a somewhat logical yet intuitive thinker, I understood that ‘reality’ is a social agreement. Nonetheless, this intellectual awareness did not diminish my discomfort of feeling like an outcast in a culture that did not agree to accept what I saw right in front of me.

Through the years I have met people with whom I share some of the same sensitivities and abilities. What a relief! Finding ‘kindred’ certainly facilitated my further growth and development, but I can not say that even these temporary communities helped me to gain enough confidence to accept my own perceptions. I have always envisioned myself a freak, and my associations with other ‘freaks’ did not necessarily help me to see how my gifts of vision had any personal or social usefulness or purpose. When a culture agrees that something does not exist, it also takes away its validity and its necessary employment within that same society.

So, basically I have felt an inner tension about being ‘sensitive’ or ‘deep’ or ‘intense’, words people have repeatedly used to describe and often disarm me. For some reason, this is how I felt other people’s reactions, as forms of attack.

I share this about myself, because I now realize, pardon my using a word that sounds so similar to the topic, that my experience of feeling like a freak and feeling like I am being attacked for telling my story is a commonplace experience. I am not suggesting that everyone has been in this space, I am reporting that I have met thousands of people who have been there, and who exist there, or shall I say here?

In other ways I have crossed the line (what line?). I have acted as a highly functioning member of work groups, creative groups, as a teacher, student, partner, ensemble member. I love the collaborative dynamic, especially when there is a unifying intention of building something. Yet, I have often felt ravenously hungry and malnourished, as my inner world and vision was not being called upon. My inner and outer experiences became so dichotomized that I began to categorize everything inside myself as one world, and what was happening via earthly social agreements as the ‘surface world’. When I felt unable to thrive on the surface, I retreated to the caves.

Now I am telling you very personal stuff, but I have come to believe that it is better to share my most intimate stories to the public at large. When I have revealed these aspects of myself in personal/intimate relationships, the negative and fearful reactions have hurt me. This is another dichotomous situation that I am working diligently to shift, but you gotta go with where you are and what you know.

This is where I am going, with today’s little salty appetizer of what I am presently seeing as the nature of reality.

Gastric juices awaken, I will leave the main course for another day. It would be good if we take some time to get to know one another.

One of my ‘sensitivities’ is that I am able to ‘see’ energy, and even as a young child I experienced other people’s ‘dis-ease’ when touching them, being in the room with them or as a thought popping into my head. As way leads on to way, I eventually studied various forms of bodywork which helped me to understand, structure and refine, what I am now calling my palpation skills. Several years ago I began my training as a Certified Core Synchronism Practitioner. This work has been monumental in helping me to be more and more effective to see disharmony in the body and facilitate relaxation and the healing response, It has also been one of my most profound teachers in the reality quest.

When I put my hands on a person’s body, I am following protocols that look for relationships of subtle movements in the bodymind. Over the years I have developed my palpation skills so that I can perceive 5, 10, 15 movements at the same moment, without moving my hands. Feeling these movements in my hands has been a factor that has improved my acceptance of my own gifts. Perceiving subtle energies through the physical sense of touch continues to build a bridge between my inner world and outer worlds. It has also been of great value to convene with dozens of peers every year and be reminded that there is an ever growing community of people who actively practice the development of their sensitivities, who contribute their skills to society and who are employed to do this.

So the bodywork and my personal integration work has been seeping some kinds of new awareness into my mundane get up and go to work meet people and socialize stand in line at the grocery store and wonder what it all means parts of life.

Basically, this is what I see today. Everyone is right, real and essential. All realities exist. Reality is limitless.

This sounds exhausting. Doesn’t it? What to do?

Focus.

To go back to the example of the Core Synchronism, in my training, I have expanded my vision. I have learned to feel things that five years ago I didn’t even know existed. That’s golden. When I am working with a client, there is usually a presenting symptom, or complaint, such as a headache, neurolgical imbalance, you know aches and pains. So, I focus on movements that I have been taught may relate to that symptom. I am able to feel 15, but I may only focus on 4-5, as they relate to that client’s presentation.

Yes, it is obvious that this is how we do our work, but remember, this is a story about the nature of reality.

So, what I see now is that we are all these little worlds, spiraling around each other like atoms. If I were to zoom out I would see the universe, in its limitless dynamic beauty. This idea is not new or extreme. It is reflected in the origins of most spiritual practices. What I understand now is that as one of those worlds, my existence is an integral part of the universe. My unique way, my visions and perceptions and contributions keep the universe alive, as do everyone’s. If I express my SELF, I thrive (a concept and way that is greatly beyond health, maintenance and paying the bills). If I thrive the universe thrives. It is pretty, much and simple…

…and it has taken me decades to feel this truth, like the grains of sand at the margent of the sea, through my fingers.

Assuming that you can fathom this truth, how does this relate to manifest destiny? Well, this is a very good way to start the ball rolling, don’t you think?

I was indoctrinated into the Catholic church. I was taught that there is a god who lives outside of me that knows the truth and reveals the truth. Skip ahead thirty some years… and now I see that I am an essential being, a member of the universe. The truth or nature of reality is being created by me, and everyone else.Of course we want to make group agreements. Yet, too often these agreements forget that everyone is included.

My destiny is to listen to my self, to find and express my unique reflection of reality, a highly creative and artistic act, while also associating with others and choosing which group agreements I will enter. The more I relate to others, the more of the dyanmic puzzle of the universe I see and hence have at my disposal. The focus on self does not deny everyone else. I present my SELF, like the symptoms that clients bring with them. This is what I am focusing on.

What a simple way, yet a very complex labrinth of twists and turns to have even gotten to this understanding.

And this is where I will leave you for now. I hope you accept this fodder to chew, digest, fill your belly, or whatever.