The Harvest

Hello, Loves.

It’s autumn and I feel like we are waiting for a harvest. We are waiting for the seeds we’ve sown to grow, flourish, ripen, and finally to be gathered, to be harvested. Don’t you feel oh so very ready? Ready for change. Ready for a new way of being. Ready for movement and ease. Ready for growth and transformation. Ready to align with possibility. Ready to dance. My body craves the soft undulations of my arms moving through space, my hips rolling to the beat, my shoulders shaking everything loose. It’s been a long, difficult week and I’m ready to let my body move as it will, to give it freedom to roam around and be curious in its expression. There’s something that needs to be unleashed, and surely, something that needs to be harvested. I know not what (yet), but I trust I’ll find out tomorrow on the dance floor.

I hope you’re well, Sweet Dancer. I hope this time finds you thriving at best and if not, then at least coping for this is surely a time to develop new skills; how we take care of ourselves and how we take care of each other. I’m so happy to have dance to look forward to tomorrow. I’m so happy to look forward to seeing you tomorrow on the dance floor (aka zoom room).

It's truly a delight to tell you that our beloved Davida will be leading us tomorrow with her tailored-to-our-needs soundscape, her deep wisdom, her loving kindness.

Here’s the helpful link:

And here’s a sweet little poem for you:

The Seven Of Pentacles

Under a sky the color of pea soup she is looking at her work growing away there actively, thickly like grapevines or pole beans as things grow in the real world, slowly enough. If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water, if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food, if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars, if the praying mantis comes and the ladybugs and the bees, then the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.

Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground. You cannot tell always by looking what is happening. More than half the tree is spread out in the soil under your feet. Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet. Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree. Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden. Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar.

Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses. Live a life you can endure: Make love that is loving. Keep tangling and interweaving and taking more in, a thicket and bramble wilderness to the outside but to us interconnected with rabbit runs and burrows and lairs.

Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen: reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in. This is how we are going to live for a long time: not always, for every gardener knows that after the digging, after the planting, after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest comes.

~ Marge Piercy ~

May we weave real connections.

May we make love that is loving.

Sending you love and the wish for music that moves you, body & soul.



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