The Between State

Dearest Dancers,

Today I participated in Kathy’s workshop, “The Silence Between”. There was so much nourishment today; in the movement, in the music, in community, in Kathy’s wisdom and the way she held the container with fierce tenderness. In one segment, we were working with the between state, the practice of pausing and witnessing without swinging in one direction or another. The idea was that we might tease apart habit and choice. They’re both necessary. To take action by skillful habit (for example), to have habitual thoughts, behavior, and ideas. There’s a stability in the habitual. One knows what to expect. And there’s also goodness in choice, in consciously choosing the next action, the new belief, the open minded discovery, the wholehearted “yes” that isn’t habitual. It’s good to know which state you’re in and to find a type of balance. Habit? Or choice? Just notice. Become aware. Kathy spoke eloquently of the great beauty of the world as well as the great terror that sits right along beside it. It’s the between state that we so often want to avoid. We’re less steady in the between state; the uncertainty. Yet, the trick is to stay centered, whatever comes our way; disaster or delight.

I’m just writing about these concepts now, but we moved them during the workshop. We embodied difficulty and pain. We embodied goodness, awe, beauty, and wonder. And we held the practice of pausing, of witnessing, of simply noticing. Oh, Glorious Dancers, it was good. I felt renewed and enlivened.

And, my friend, I tell you this movement practice, it is good. So. Very. Good. Tomorrow, we have the distinct pleasure of dancing with the oh-so-exquisite Davida.

Let’s dance at 9:45am Pacific.

Here’s the link:

Before the poem, I want to take a moment to celebrate a life that crossed over earlier this week. Vishuda de los Santos, we’ll miss your warm heart and your dazzlingly bright smile. RIP, Love.



Understand, I am always trying to figure out what the soul is, and where hidden, and what shape - and so, last week, when I found on the beach the ear bone of a pilot whale that may have died hundreds of years ago, I thought maybe I was close to discovering something - for the ear bone


is the portion that lasts longest in any of us, man or whale; shaped like a squat spoon with a pink scoop where once, in the lively swimmer's head, it joined its two sisters in the house of hearing, it was only two inches long - and thought: the soul might be like this - so hard, so necessary -


yet almost nothing. Beside me the gray sea was opening and shutting its wave-doors, unfolding over and over its time-ridiculing roar; I looked but I couldn't see anything through its dark-knit glare; yet don't we all know, the golden sand is there at the bottom, though our eyes have never seen it, nor can our hands ever catch it


lest we would sift it down into fractions, and facts - certainties - and what the soul is, also I believe I will never quite know. Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving, which is the way I walked on, softly, through the pale-pink morning light.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Ahhh. Love that. “Our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving. .. .” Beautifully said, Mary, as always.

Sending love,


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