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The Magic of Movement

Dear Beloved Dancers,

Do you believe in magic? Perhaps, before answering that, it might be fun to consider if magic exists along a spectrum; from the littlest of everyday magical moments to the heart-pounding miracles—a profusion of magic. And when do you feel closest to magic, that enchanting sometimes-sparkly quality of life that makes everything seem possible? When can you touch magic? When are you most likely to align with it? Me? It’s when I dance and shortly thereafter. Dance often takes me through a portal of sorts and I am ushered into a new way of being; a softening, an ease of being, a new way of seeing, often. There’s a floaty sensation and yet it’s also a completely grounded feeling. Both and. Heart feels light and full and open. Mind too is open and pliable, available to magic. And maybe that’s the crux of it. Magic is always around us, we just need to be available to it. I wish you movement. I wish you magic. I wish you enchanted discoveries. I wish you sweet, body-yummy magical dances.


It makes my heart beat in all kinds of pittery-pattery ways to tell you that our beloved Lori Saltzman will bring her unique brand of magic to share with us tomorrow.

Here’s the deal: we’ll meet at Dunphy Park in Sausalito. It’s right near the corner of Bridgeway and Napa Street. Bring your earbuds or headset. And bring your willingness to be available to the mystery and the magic.

Here’s the link (you do need to sign up and pre-pay. Blessedly, there’s a drop-in option now): DISCOLOGY

Starting time: 9:45am


And here’s a magical poem by the exquisite Mary Oliver:


Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End? There are things you can’t reach. But you can reach out to them, and all day long. The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God. And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier. The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily, out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing from the unreachable top of the tree. I look; morning to night I am never done with looking. Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around as though with your arms open. And thinking: maybe something will come, some shining coil of wind, or a few leaves from any old tree – they are all in this too. And now I will tell you the truth. Everything in the world comes. At least, closer. And, cordially. Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake. Like goldfinches, little dolls of gold fluttering around the corner of the sky of God, the blue air. ~ Mary Oliver ~

(Why I Wake Early)

May magic come, most cordially, to you.

Much love,

KB

P.S. Last week’s poem, The Dance, was written by C.K. Williams. I inadvertently neglected to include the poet’s name.

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