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May 10, 2008

Soluna: A New Kind of Salon

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April 09, 2008

Reflections on a Workshop for Belly Dancers

    I recently facilitated a workshop which I enjoyed tremendously.  I was blessed by the presence of five fabulous belly dancers.  They inspired me.  They took every bit of straw I gave them and wove it into gold.  Some of the things I saw make splendid examples of the spirit of the Alexander Work.
    One of the things that has come up lately in discussions with two of my most important friends in the Work is what one might call the aesthetics of presence.  This has been an interest of mine ever since I noticed that people sometimes looked poignantly beautiful after getting good Work.  This phenomenon suggests quite clearly that we interfere with our natural beauty.  A reactive, habitual, doing way of being is just not as radiant as a responsive, awakened, non-doing way of being.  At one point I began working with a husband and wife, and we regularly took note that each one looked his or her best after getting good Work.
    One of the women who works with me has been giving me rather regular reports on her “afterglow” experiences.  Here are two of them:

    After our session, I was beaming out some sort of something [because] people kept staring at me in [the grocery store] . . .
    ______________

    So . . . the remnants of today's lesson made this man, who works at [the grocery store], feed me grapes.  And then a slice of mango.  Right in the middle of the produce section. Then, I kid you not, he asked if I was Argentine. . . . And then, to top it all off . . . asked me out.

 

 
I should point out that this person doesn't look even vaguely Latina.  Being asked if she is Argentine surprised her not only because of that fact, but also because we do Tango-infused Alexander Work, which the man in the produce section could not possibly have known.  This is either a synchronicity or a particularly strange coincidence.
    The other person who has discussed the aesthetics of presence with me recently pointed out something very significant: this glow goes both ways.  When you receive good Work, you are more open to seeing the natural beauty of others.  You find them more interesting.  You feel positive regard, you feel Peace and Love.  This too is significant for belly dancers.  A dancer offers her presence as an act of Love.  She has to like the audience enough, have enough Love and Compassion for them, to want to suffer the burden of being on fire for them.  One of the belly dancers confessed that when she really feels her presence filling the room, she sometimes has feelings of guilt for it, and this in turn contracts her presence.  Others nodded in recognition of this phenomenon.  A woman may feel unsure whether it’s “okay” for her to tap into such power.  In the case of a belly dancer, this energy can be very sensual, which only adds another layer of difficulty.  Yet this is her JOB.  She is to reveal the awesome mystery of feminine power.  She in fact can determine its sensual content by the simple choice of how much raw power to let through.  When she truly fills the space, the result can be more sublime than sexy.  As Joyce would put it, the viewer is held in a state of aesthetic arrest in which he or she is united with “the secret cause.”  This may seem somewhat paradoxical when there is an obvious sensual content, but only because we are habituated to experience fear and desire, not arrest, not the still point.  But there the dance is, and not just belly dance.         
    It was remarkable to witness the aesthetics of presence at work.  I noticed it in all five of the dancers.  With two, I was unfortunately standing behind them and was actively working with them.  I still noticed a difference, but it is harder to describe.  With the other three, there was a strong physical experience of the presence, and with the third in particular there was a strong visual experience.  These are loose distinctions.  One SAW something in all five, and one FELT something in all five.  I’ll take two examples then.
    Everyone started out more or less the same.  The environment challenged them, so different was it from the circumstances of performance to which they are accustomed.  We were six people in a small studio in the middle of the day, not a large, dimly lit performance space filled with people.  The music was also not their own.  This tended to provoke their doings.  And it gave a consistent result: presence retracted, the fires dimmed, the movements (even when they looked technically lovely) seemed just a bit lackluster.  Forgive me ladies if you’re reading this.  I say it plainly because, especially now, we all know what you’re CAPABLE of doing.  And let's understand: Alexander "teachers" are SUPPOSED to provoke.  We can't blame the results on the context.  My job is to help people see the doing way of being that is functioning ALL THE TIME, in dancing and in everyday life.  In a dancer, it is usually CONTROLLED.  The beauty of the dance emerges in spite of it.  However, if we can begin to shift from doing to being, then the dance becomes more expressive, more powerful, more beautiful, more profound.
    Fortunately, I did very little.  Which means a lot got done.  Through my non-doing, the dancers began to activate the four skills: Awareness, Acceptance, Connection, and Non-doing.  Calling them “skills” is misleading.  We just ARE these things.  What we are certainly transcends these concepts, but we use them as skillful means, as a way to begin to access what we are.  
    Helping these women access their power had an astonishing impact.  One woman actually GLOWED.  I know: it sounds crazy.  You don’t have to dive into metaphysical waters to accept this.  If you’ve seen a pregnant woman, or seen a woman in love, then you’ve seen something like what I saw.  And I was not the only one.  Everyone else saw it too.  It was stunning.  Moreover, we also saw it vanish.  I wanted to check on this, so I didn’t say anything about the glow.  After recovering my wits, I simply asked her what she thought.  She said that after I worked with her a little the dancing felt much better than on her first attempt.  She said she tried to just “go with it.”  “Okay,” I said, “but at some point did the neurosis creep back in?”  She admitted that it had.  I told her we all had seen it.  This is not easy to bear when you’re first learning to let yourself shine.  It can add pressure to know the audience can sense every flicker of neurosis.  It’s almost like we’d rather not be seen.  But we are.  Always.  Even if that which perceives us is more-than-human.
    Another woman spoke of feeling self-conscious.  Of course, this is common for many performers.  What I find so fascinating is that what we feel in these cases is just energy, and the slightest shift of the glance transforms that energy in a radiant way.  As the glance of the performer goes from within to without, she goes from self-conscious to simply CONSCIOUS.  That’s something the audience doesn’t always get to see: a conscious, powerful woman revealing the mystery of the divine feminine through dance.  In their daily lives, they don’t see many conscious people at all.  So this is an act of profound significance.  Here again the Belly Dancer is willing to burn for the audience.  She is willing to suffer her self-consciousness and be brave enough to fully accept it so she can make that necessary shift in her gaze.  And when she does, the experience can be overwhelming for some.  Have you ever had a conscious Dancer LOOK at you during a performance?  It’s not easy to bear if she really lets that divine feminine energy manifest.  When she truly lets the mystery of Life come through her, and if we are brave enough to genuinely LOOK, how can we call this anything else but darshan?  I won't say that we got this particular dancer to go quite that far, but the results were again powerful and palpable for everyone watching.  The aesthetics of presence works by degrees.  More presence means more aesthetic impact.  But look at what we're really saying here: the dancer becomes more and more aesthetically significant as she becomes more and more metaphysically signficant.
    If you think reference to darshan and metaphysical significance marks an entrance into questionable territory, you can perhaps still understand and accept the psychodynamic importance of what’s going on here.  Because of the condition of aesthetic arrest, the viewer, and let’s focus on the male viewer for a moment, has a chance to allow his anima to mature.  If you immediately leap out of the vessel, no alchemical transformation will occur.  Because of the aesthetic arrest, you can begin to transform.  Even if your experience has a sensual or erotic content, the dancer who can make that energy beautiful and sublime still creates a condition of aesthetic arrest, so desire ceases to function.  You aren’t desiring, you are beholding, connecting.  The grasping ego vanishes in the face of something too big to grasp.  At this moment the belly dancer is helping the viewer, all viewers, to reconcile the problem of opposites.
    I’m not sure how many belly dancers understand the importance of what they do, for themselves and for the viewer.  Belly dance can be a big part of spiritual and psychological development.  The context of the dance can be a vessel for both dancer and viewer.  If the viewer remains still within this vessel, his or her lead can begin to turn to gold.  The same holds for the dancers.  Dance is a profound art, and attaining its highest potentials requires profound Work.  It takes a lot of discipline and dedication.  Dancers who are willing to surrender to it bestow heavenly gifts on us all.  I encourage every lover of dance to seek out belly dancers and receive their gifts with deep gratitude, and I encourage all dancers to keep pushing themselves, compassionately yet with vigor.
    I just want to say one last thing: psychodynamics, metaphysics, and all other "ics" aside, the phenomena described here are concrete and practical.  All of us can cultivate more presence, which means we can bring a little more Beauty and Love into the world.  When you are present, people see it and sense it without any need to refer to "ics."  It WORKS on them, and it works on the more-than-human world.  This is because you become more connected to the world and all the beings in it.  Your awareness opens, and you enter a state of non-doing in which more of what actually needs to get done finds itself getting done.  Every single person has access to this.  It just IS you.  All you have to do is begin to allow it to enter your life.
 

April 06, 2008

The Meaning of Alexander Work

     What is the meaning of referring to Alexander Work with a capital ‘W’?  This capital letter hints that the activity transcends the ideas we might have about it.  It is a way to try to disrupt the dichotomous mind.  We always make distinctions, and we hold many of them subconsciously.  These distinctions form part of the impulse and structure of our doings and our doing way of being.  Our language reflects this.  When you come to meet with me, I can ask what you would like to do, or what you would like to work on.  While we can acknowledge these grammatical necessities, we have to look and see if they correlate with an unfulfilling way of being.  We don’t want to work on anything at all, just to Work.
    You might be tempted to see this as an Alexander lens.  It is actually an eschewal of lenses altogether.  While we can legitimately ask, “How would one look at this from the perspective of the Alexander Work?” we have to understand this as partly intellectual.  The real answer comes down to Working, not pigeonholing. 
    What does “Work” mean, then?  We can phrase it in many ways.  If you were a Christian I might follow Kierkegaard and say that “Work” means being a Knight of Faith.  That in turn means putting yourself fully in the Hands of the Divine, following the Divine Will no matter how irrational it would seem to your dichotomous mind.  In the Zen tradition we might say “Working” refers to Ordinary Mind, or no-mind, or Big Mind, or doing what you're doing when you're doing it.  In Buddhism generally we might call it Buddha Nature or even Dharma.  In Taoism we might say “Work” means actualizing your Te and letting the Tao Work through you.  Another way to say it: it means being what you are, away from the ideas you have about what you are or how you should be.  We could also call it “being in a state of inspiration.”  Or we might say “Work” means Living your Life, having an Intimate Connection to Life from moment to moment, actualizing the wisdom and compassion that infuses every moment, living Life from our center, letting the energies of Life or of Love Work through us, nurturing the seeds planted in us by Divine fingers, embodying our Myths and Religions, Living Life as Art, or myriad other hintings, pointings, and approximations. 
    Why use “Work” at all?  Why not use some other term?  I ask this seemingly rhetorical question because I haven’t considered it well enough.  Maybe I should pick another word.  Yet there are some nice things about “Work.”  For one, we can understand that we need to Work on ourselves, and we can say that without falling too far into the trap of grammar.  “Practice” offers itself as a viable replacement here.  And, truth be told, we WILL have lots of ideas about the Work.  The term “practice” can remind us that, until we experience very deep insight, we are still at great risk, we still have barriers between ourselves and our lives, we still rationalize and dichotomize and react in all sorts of ways.  Indeed, even after some pretty significant insights, we still need a lot of practice in order to fully embody them.  On the other hand, the universe isn’t practicing.  It’s just Working, functioning, doing its thing.  And we are part of that Work.  We can see there is Work to be done.  Humanity is in crisis, beings are suffering, people are trapped under thick wet blankets of ignorance.  If we work on these problems, we won’t get very far.  Better to Work.  To Work on ourselves, to be what we are, and to Connect to the suffering of the world in a non-doing way.  I don’t know that this settles the question.  For now, I’ll continue to use Work while considering other options.  “Alexander Just Living Your Life.”  “Alexander Joining with the Universe.”  “Alexander Being a Knight of Faith.”  “Alexander Letting the Divine Will Work Through You.”  A bit awkward, eh?
    These formulations do reflect the notion of an “Alexander Perspective.”  Are we going in circles?  No.  Spirals.  Understand that the confusion of “Alexander Technique” and “Alexander Work” lies not only in the issue of having to clarify “Work” and “Technique.”  I often make the analogy that this kind of naming would have us call Buddhism the Siddhartha Technique.  Taken at face value, Buddhism is supposed to be just the way things are.  Skillful means are used to help people access it, but what they are accessing is not meant to be just another way of looking at things.  This is why people from other traditions find Buddhism helpful.  Many Christians and Jews study some form of Buddhism and find it helpful for embodying the teachings of their own traditions.  The Alexander Work is meant to be the same.  The Work is just about what we are.  It relies on a specific set of skillful means, largely kinesthetic, for helping people access it, but what they are accessing is not supposed to be just another way of looking at things.  They are accessing a way of being that is in harmony with Life and with their own unique place in Life.
    In practical terms, the notion of Work should, among other things, act to inform the way we cultivate this way of being.  No matter what we seem to be “working on,” the real Work has several layers.  One of these is Working on what matters most to you: your passion, your highest values, your job, your relationships, your hobbies, your political causes.  We have ideas about all of these things, and Working means letting go of the ideas and instead bodying forth the mystery behind all those ideas.  You can come and work on sitting and standing.  Or you can come and Work.  When you do the latter, you are Working on your Life, learning to live in an Intimate and vitalizing way.  Everything we “do” in the meeting thus transcends itself.  We become part of the functioning of the universe, and the suffering of the planet is reduced that much more. 

March 30, 2008

Tango as Pathway to Bliss

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March 11, 2008

Dancing with the Abyss


“And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.” ~Nietzsche

    This post only appears to deal with tango.  My interest in Tango lies in the way it so beautifully expresses the principles of the Alexander Technique.  Thus, like most things I say or write about Tango, the real subject here goes far beyond tango.  What we will consider goes to the heart of all artistic activities, ultimately illuminating the creative heart of everyday living.
    We begin with a tango teacher admonishing the leaders in his class by saying, “It’s not your body . . . always give your partner time to make the movements you want.”  There is something very nice there.  Connection demands that we give each other time to respond.  We worry so much over the ends of things, and this creates a tension that bends us toward the past and the future––sometimes simultaneously.  But we can only dance NOW.  If we look deeply into the dance, we can begin to see how our reactiveness manifests, how habits control us, how the discursive mind whirs, how we try, especially perhaps as beginners, to make this wild phoenix a tame little chic.  But when we really look deeply, we may tremble.  We arrive at a place where Nietzsche’s quote transcends its existence as an overly sweetened fortune cookie.  Instead, when we break it open we find, not a fragment of kitsch, but bundle of invitations from playful gods and goddesses: invitations to dance, invitations to laugh and to cry, invitations to let go of what we think we are and allow ourselves be moved by rhythms divine.
    What I am getting at: the suggestion of this teacher takes us only to the EDGE of the abyss.  To dance right into it, into that brilliant light that from the edge appears as terrifying darkness, we have to go further: Why is he only pointing out that HER body is not my body?  Shouldn’t I ask if MY body is really my body?  How does dancing HAPPEN?  NOW we can fall:

“Our bodies do not belong to us.”  ~Kōdō Sawaki Roshi

Let that sink in.  What does it mean?  We need to really LOOK here.  Is this Zen baloney, or is this guy speaking from concrete experience?  Here’s the full quote:

    Our bodies do not belong to us.  They are the true activity of the life of the great universe.  That is to say, our bodies are the great universal life.  The proof that this body is the life of the universe is in zazen.  In zazen, you place your hands like this and cross your legs and do nothing at all with regard to yourself.  By doing zazen in this manner, your body will become the reality of the great universe.

IF this is true, if we should take this as something important, something that can actually guide our development as dancers, at ANY level, then we can rewrite that like so:

    Our bodies do not belong to us; the dance does not belong to us.  The dance is the true activity of the life of the great Cosmos.  Life is Dance.  Our body is the Cosmic body dancing.  The proof of this can be found in Tango.  You take a woman (or a man) in your arms and do nothing at all.  You connect fully and allow yourself to be moved.  Your body and your dance then become the reality of the great Cosmos.    

Sawaki Roshi put the matter this way as well:  “Zazen is not the life of an individual; it is the universe that is breathing.”  Likewise: dancing is not the life of an individual or of two individuals; it is the universe that is breathing and dancing.  Indeed, he INSISTS on this point, again and again.  Below are several quotes from Sawaki Roshi.  Just make the translations yourself.  For instance, where it says “zazen,” replace it with “Tango,” and where it speaks of Buddha, keep it as Buddha, or change it to "Kali," or “Dance,” or “great dancer,” or “genuine person,” or “true self,” or “faithful Christian”:

“Zazen is the purity of one’s own nature through the body . . . . In zazen . . . [you] take a pause from everything.  Don’t think in terms of good or bad, or judge right from wrong.  Stop the movement of consciousness.  Refrain from the calculation of ideas.  Don’t seek to be a Buddha . . .”

“The universe and I are of the same root.  The myriad things and I are one body.  That is zazen.”

“If you sit with faith in zazen, you will be a Buddha.”

“We stop the one who can’t cease from seeking things outside, and practice with our bodies with a posture that seeks absolutely nothing.  This is zazen.”

“Though it is thought that zazen and faith are different and said that zazen is not [related] to faith, doing zazen in this way, becoming intimate with the self, creating a very clear self, is what I call faith.”

    We can see here the value of Tango in spiritual practice, in our growth as human beings, in the nourishment of our relationships, and more.  This is why I advocate Tango (and the Alexander Technique) as Practice, as Way.  Of course, I make no distinction between Dance and Life, and this is why lessons in the Alexander Technique are to me just lessons in dancing, in how to dance your life.  This is also why I teach tango-infused Alexander Work.  My concern is not with technique, but with this deeper issue.  These quotes also hint at the importance of zazen or some other form of contemplative practice as a foundation for DEEP “progress” in Tango or Alexander Work.  Of course, one can also consult the scientific literature to understand this point.  
    It is important to realize that we are not pursuing “Zen ideas” here.  This is about your LIFE.  It has to do with tapping into the sources of creativity, living an inspired life, understanding the nature of free will, seeing into our reactiveness and our many habits of thought and action.  What is the relationship between fate and freedom?  Who is DOING my life if I’m not?  Martin Buber points at the moon:

    Fate and freedom are promised to each other.  Fate is encountered only by him that actualizes freedom.  That I discovered the deed that intends me, that, this movement of my freedom, reveals the mystery to me.  But this, too, that I cannot accomplish it the way I intended it, this resistance also reveals the mystery to me . . . he that puts aside possessions and cloak and steps bare before the countenance––this free human being encounters fate as the counter-image of his freedom.  It is not his limit but his completion; freedom and fate embrace each other to form meaning; and given meaning, fate––with its eyes, hitherto severe, suddenly full of light––looks like grace itself.

Can I hear an “Amen”?  Or a Shalom, or a Shazam, or an Om Namah Shivaya!  Let that Buber vibe sink in.  Catch some of the resonance: “the deed that INTENDS me,” “this MOVEMENT of my freedom,” “I cannot accomplish it the way I INTENDED,” “freedom and fate EMBRACE . . . to form MEANING,” “fate . . . full of LIGHT––looks like GRACE itself.”  The whole of Tango’s mystery is there.  The Dance intends US, it accomplishes itself THROUGH us, not as we think it SHOULD, as we try to tame it and make it known, but as it must be.  The dancers embrace within the embrace of the Dance, and in the midst of all this embracing, “leader” and “follower” fall away, I-It relationships vanish, two Thou’s become fully empowered by their own receptivity, and the MEANING of Life, which cannot be SAID, is now DANCED.  This, THIS, is Grace.  Graceful dancers follow the curves and contours of fate as it lovingly whispers with freedom.  We see Grace and we soak in a truly aesthetic experience because, as Joseph Campbell would put it, the dancers have become metaphysically significant: they have carried “the radiance of the transcendent into the field of time.”
    We should keep looking, though.  We THINK we understand.  But do we?  In the beautiful little story, Zen in the Art of Archery, Herrigel gives us the following key:

    . . . . One day I asked the Master: “How can the shot be loosed if ‘I’ do not do it?”
        “‘It’” shoots,” he replied.
        “I have heard you say that several times before, so let me put it another way: How can I wait self-obliviously for the shot if ‘I’ am no longer there?”
        “‘It’” waits at the highest tension.”
        “And who or what is this ‘It’?”
        “Once you have understood that, you will have no further need of me.  And if I tried to give you a clue at the expense of your own experience, I would be the worst of teachers and would deserve to be sacked!  So let’s stop talking about it and go on practicing.”
         . . . . Then one day, after a shot, the Master made a deep bow and broke off the lesson.  “Just then ‘It’ shot!” he cried, as I stared at him bewildered.  And when I at last understood what he meant I couldn’t suppress a sudden whoop of delight.
        “What I have said,” the Master told me severely, “was not praise, only a statement that ought not to touch you.  Nor was my bow meant for you, for you are entirely innocent of this shot.  You remained this time absolutely self-oblivious and without purpose in the highest tension, so that the shot fell from you like a ripe fruit.  Now go on practicing as if nothing had happened.”

How many Tango dancers can let go enough to accept this?  There are parts of our ego which need strengthening, and parts which need lessons in intimacy and surrender.  What is weak in us: deep and genuine confidence, and connection to our true human power.  What is strong in us: the tendency to take credit, to try to DO, to make things known, to tame, to proclaim, to become obsessed with the ends of things.
    I would like to go a little further, to return again very specifically to the notion of human creativity.  One lesson emerging here is that our whole life is spontaneous creation if we allow it (the paradox: it is even if we don’t).  Dancing with the abyss means dancing with this wild, spontaneous nature of our life.  It is unfixed and unknown.  I am thinking right now about writers and artists with whom I have Worked.  If we consider the narrow conception of creating something, like writing a book or making a piece of art, we can gain insight, not only into Tango, but into the necessity of dancing with the abyss in everyday life.  Few have nailed this as well as Nietzsche did in Ecce Homo.  The passage below comes from the section on Zarathustra.  This makes it particularly appropriate because, as Nietzsche tells us, “Zarathustra is a dancer,” and, as Isadora Duncan frequently pointed out, Nietzsche himself is “our dancing philosopher.”  Remember, though, we are reading this to understand not only inspired dancing and inspired creative work, but also inspired LIVING:

        Has anyone at the end of the nineteenth century a clear idea of what poets of strong ages have called inspiration?  If not, I will describe it. –– If one had the slightest residue of superstition left in one’s system, one could hardly reject altogether the idea that one is merely incarnation, merely mouthpiece, merely a medium of overpowering forces.  The concept of revelation––in the sense that suddenly, with indescribable certainty and subtlety, something becomes visible, audible, something that shakes one to the last depths and throws one down––that merely describes the facts.  One hears, one does not seek; one accepts, one does not ask who gives; like lightning, a thought flashes up, with necessity, without hesitation regarding its form––I never had any choice.

Shazam!!  Sense, among other things, in the midst of such richness, a resonance with Suzuki Roshi:  “When you know everything, you are like a dark sky.  Sometimes a flashing will come through the dark sky.”  In the light of the flashing, Dance reveals itself, Poetry reveals itself, something in the world yields over its secrets.  But our dancing philosopher hasn’t finished.  There’s nowhere left to go, yet we’ve just warmed our muscles for flowing movement:

        A rapture whose tremendous tension occasionally discharges itself in a flood of tears––now the pace quickens involuntarily, now it becomes slow; one is altogether beside oneself, with the distinct consciousness of subtle shudders and of one’s skin creeping down to one’s toes; a depth of happiness in which even what is most painful and gloomy does not seem something opposite but rather conditioned, provoked, a necessary color in such a superabundance of light; an instinct for rhythmic relationships that arches over wide spaces of forms––length, the need for rhythm with wide arches, is almost the measure of the force of inspiration, a kind of compensation for its pressure and tension.
        Everything happens involuntarily in the highest degree but as in a gale of a feeling of freedom, of absoluteness, of power, of divinity. –– The involuntariness of image and metaphor is strangest of all; one no longer has any notion of what is an image or a metaphor: everything offers itself as the nearest, most obvious, simplest expression.  It actually seems, to allude to something Zarathustra says, as if the things themselves approached and offered themselves as metaphors (“Here all things come caressingly to your discourse and flatter you; for they want to ride on your back.  On every metaphor you ride to every truth . . . Here the words and wordshrines of all being open up before you; here all being wishes to become word, all becoming wishes to learn from you how to speak”).
    
Can you just FEEL the Tango: a rapture, a pace quickening and slowing according to its own need, an ecstasy shuddering over one’s body and expressing itself in rhythm, all being approaching to become Dance, to learn from us how to speak through Tango.  Rumi, great poet of the Alexander Technique and of Tango, understood all of this, and he constantly tells us the abyss is where we need to go.  Here he echoes Nietzsche:

    Do you think I know what I’m doing?
    That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?
    As much as a pen knows what it’s writing,
    or the ball can guess where it’s going next.


Or the foot can guess where it’s going next, or the center can guess where it’s falling next, or I can tell you where my life should be going next, or how I will next take this woman into my arms, or kiss my beloved, or show my gratitude for some unexpected gift from the Cosmos . . .
    I would like to insist that we keep in mind the very practical nature of looking into and dancing with the abyss.  Martin Buber gives us a stern warning about intellectualizing any of this: “We cannot go to others with what we have received, saying: This is what needs to be known, this is what needs to be done.  We can only go and put the proof in action.”  There is no formula, and no amount of intellectual agreement or argument matters here.  The point is to DANCE.  Not only to go out and try some Tango, but to dance your LIFE.  We may think all of this is for writers, dancers, artists.  But our “life span” is a canvas, the body a set magical brushes; our life span is also a dance floor, a story, a butterfly dreaming in the wind.  
    For some advice on the practical dimensions of looking into and dancing with the abyss, we cannot do better than Thich Nhat Hanh.  He encourages us to look into the abyss in many ways:  “When we say it’s raining, we mean that raining is taking place.  You don’t need someone up above to perform the raining.  It’s not that there is rain, and there is the one who causes the rain to fall.”  In case that’s not clear enough, he dances right up to the very stating point of our conversation:  “You might think that your body is your individual possession, but your body belongs to the world as well . . . . to say, ‘It’s my own life!’ is a bit naive.”
    One thing I adore about Thich Nhat Han, one in a very long list, is that he makes the abyss a lovely thing.  He essentially tells us that looking into the abyss means gazing into the eyes of the Buddha.  From this viewpoint, understanding that Life is acting THROUGH us is not really scary.  Rather it can be a saving grace.  When we face something difficult we can leap into the arms of the abyss instead of running from it.  We can ask the Buddha to handle the situation for us, to dance with the challenges we face rather than TACKLING or DOING them “on our own.”  The Zen Master tells us that, “Even in the most difficult situation, you can walk like a Buddha.”  To illustrate, he tells of a visit to Korea in which hundreds of people, cameras in hand, rushed toward his group as they were walking: “ . . . they were closing in.  There was no path to walk, and everyone was aiming their camera at us.  It was a very difficult situation in which to do walking meditation [i.e., for him, to WALK].  And I said, ‘Dear Buddha, I give up, you walk for me.’  And right away the Buddha came, and he walked, with complete freedom.  And then the crowd just made room for the Buddha to walk; no effort was made . . . .  This works in all situations.”  (Incidentally, every religion asks us to dance with the abyss.  For instance, John 3:21 tells us that, “Everyone who lives by the truth will come to the light, because they want others to know that God is really the one doing what they do.”  In the Gita we read that “The man who has seen the truth/thinks, ‘I am not the doer’/at all times–when he sees, hears, touches,/when he smells, eats, walks, sleeps, breathes.”)
    Let me end by encouraging you to dance with the abyss.  It’s everywhere, waiting to embrace you and to Work on you and through you.  If you already dance Tango, really ASK, “Who is the one dancing?  Who is dragging this bucket of bones around the floor?”  If you’re new to Tango, don’t worry about being a beginner.  When you face the challenges of learning, just ask the Buddha to dance for you (and then ask, “Who is this Buddha dancing for me?”).  If you’re not a “dancer” in the stereotypical sense, remember that you are still a Dancer, and every moment of your life is a chance to manifest it.  Any of us can ask the Buddha to deal with difficult dances, and any of us can keep looking into that lovely abyss.  When it begins to look back, we start to grow in miraculous ways.

October 21, 2007

Bodhisattva of the Alexander Technique

    The bodhisattva with 1000 arms can be a helpful figure for students of the Alexander Technique.  This bodhisattva is an icon of non-doing, and allowing it to work on us can help us see more clearly into the nature of the four skills.
    There is a classic story about a grasshopper and a centipede.  The grasshopper sees the centipede and is taken aback.  “How is it possible,” he asks, “that you can walk with all those legs?!  How on earth do you do it?!”  The centipede stops and says, “I don’t know.”  The grasshopper insists on knowing.  He says, “Come now!  Don’t keep it a secret!  Tell me!  I must know how you do it.  If you really don’t know, then think about it!  I want you to tell me how you control all those legs.”  The centipede starts thinking about it, and after a few minutes he realizes he can no longer walk.  He is totally confused, and now he can’t get his legs to work at all.
    Imagine what a grasshopper would think of the bodhisattva with 1000 arms.  These are not just insect legs, but human arms, each with human hands capable of sophisticated movement.  The image is so baffling that we too should become like the grasshopper and marvel at it.  Or maybe we gloss over it, viewing it as just another religious image.  What kind of religious image is it?  What is a bodhisattva, and who is this bodhisattva with 1000 arms?
    In a nutshell, a bodhisattva is an “enlightenment being,” one who has vowed to attain enlightenment for the sake of helping all sentient beings.  They sit in meditation to save all sentient beings, they practice compassion for the sake of all sentient beings, they follow the Way for the sake of all sentient beings, and when they die they vow to keep returning to the world of samsara until all sentient beings are free.  The very essence of a bodhisattva is compassion.
    Some bodhisattvas are very well known.  Avalokiteshvara may be the most famous of them all.  He is known by many names and manifests in many forms.  In Tibet he is known as Chenrezig.  The Dalai Lama is viewed as a manifestation or emanation of Chenrezig.  In China the most famous form of this bodhisattva is Kwan Yin, a female version.  In Japan, Kwan Yin is called Kannon.  Any of these versions of Avalokiteshvara may manifest in the form of a being having one thousand arms, one of 108 forms through which he may manifest.  

Here are links to a couple images of this bodhisattva.  The first link contains an explanation of how the bodhisattva came to have 1000 arms:

http://www.buddhanet.net/e-learning/history/guanyin.htm

http://www.asianart.com/exhibitions/bowers/01.html


    That’s the background.  To get into the substance of why this bodhisattva is an icon for the Alexander Technique, let’s return to the question of how we look at such an image in the first place.  I’m going to do a smart thing and turn to Zen Master Takuan.  His comments on this figure get right to the point, and one could hardly find a better source.  The following long quote is taken from Immovable Wisdom, a translation of Takuan’s writings done by Nobuko Hirose.  The title is well chosen.  One could say the Alexander Technique seeks to cultivate a wisdom that is immovable but not fixed.  We all have it, we just tend to cover it up.  Takuan touches on this in his discussion of the thousand-armed bodhisattva, in this case appearing in male form (you might ask why this bodhisattva of compassion needs weapons):

        Senju Kannon (the thousand-armed Kannon) is represented with a thousand arms, each arm holding a different weapon, but despite having a thousand arms, if his mind ‘stops’ with the one that uses a bow, for example, all the remaining 999 arms will be of no use whatever.  Only if his mind does not ‘stop’ with the use of one arm can his other arms work efficiently and the thousand weapons be useful.
        As for Kannon, how can it have a thousand arms on one body?  This figure is intended to show us that when a man realizes immovable wisdom, even with as many as a thousand arms on one body, he is able to use each and every one in one way or another.
         . . . . Ordinary people regard Kannon with reverence for no reason.  They simply believe in Kannon as an extraordinary being because it has a thousand arms and eyes on its body.  Some people with superficial knowledge deny Kannon and say, ‘How can one have as many arms and eyes as a thousand on one body?  It is a lie.’  Not only do they deny Kannon, but they abuse Buddhism.  But one who knows Buddhism more deeply will neither blindly believe nor deny it.  Because one understands the reason for things and pays respect, so one believes in Kannon.
        Buddhist teaching often manifests its principles in a form.  This is also the case with all other Way, especially Shintoism (the old indigenous religion in Japan).  These figures are symbols and a means of teaching.  One who sees and thinks only on the surface is ordinary.  On the other hand, one who abuses Buddhism is worse.  Everything has its reason.  One must see behind phenomena.  This school, that school, there are many schools, but they all boil down to this.

    One thing I find so surprising in Takuan’s comments is the way they echo Joseph Campbell.  Campbell believed that our mythologies are poetry mistakenly read as journalism.  If you read the Bible or stories from ancient Greek religion as journalism you may be tempted to say, “It’s a lie!”  Or, you may accept this or that image as real, and it may lead you to look at images revered by other cultures and say, “It’s a lie!”  Campbell felt the images of all great mythologies (i.e. past and present religions) were metaphoric of human potential.  These images are telling us what we are.  If you believe in Kannon the way Takuan suggests, with intelligence and doubt rather than “blind” faith, you will see for yourself.
    There are ways of getting at this rather directly.  In lessons I tell students that every touch of the teacher only stands in for a hand which is already there, one that remains when the teacher’s hand goes away.  Every one of us has a thousand-armed bodhisattva standing behind us, waiting to help us accomplish any task.  You can say, "It's just a joke," or even, "What a stupid story."  But, you may also begin to trust that image, in a way that preserves doubt, so that you start to pay very close attention.  When you do that you will discover the true message in it.  The proof is in action.  Try it, and you will notice a change.  You can also try to see that you yourself are a thousand-armed bodhisattva.
    Take a moment for a quick experiment.  Place your hands in your lap.  Look at your computer keyboard.  You are going to adjust the position of the keyboard.  If you have a laptop, you are going to adjust the position of your whole computer.  This is your intention.  It’s not a goal.  You are not stuck on it.  Don’t let it stop the mind.  Instead, notice the room.  Become aware of the space above and below and to the sides of you.  Now, imagine in that space that there are one thousand arms coming out of your back, 500 on each side, some of them very high up, so they can reach way over your head.  You are going to touch the keyboard with all of those hands.  So take a moment and let them all get coordinated.  Really try to sense it.  Then, let them come forward, along with the two hands you are used to having.  They all come together.  They are all yours.  If you practice this carefully, the quality of your movement and contact with the keyboard cannot help but change.  
    This is in fact a very deep and challenging practice.  Try it for a week.  You will find it hard to remember that you have all those arms.  You will notice your mind ‘stopping’ again and again.  Just as Takuan tells us, we see that all those other 998 arms become useless.  Indeed, even the two that stop the mind become less capable, less powerful, less compassionate, less wise.  You can also try the practice of imagining a thousand-armed bodhisattva standing behind you at all times helping you in every activity.  Again, it is not an easy practice.  The mind wanders and stops.  Then the bodhisattva can no longer help us.  We end up trying to do everything on our own, and we suffer for it.  I recommend that as a student of the Alexander Technique you should believe in this bodhisattva, in the way Takuan indicates, and allow it to teach you things that lie at the heart of the Technique.
    If you have read this far, you will enjoy a very special treat (assuming you haven’t seen it already).  There is a group of 21 dancers from China who bring the thousand-armed bodhisattva to life.  They are only able to do this by means of non-doing.  They are members of the Disabled People’s Performing Art Troupe, and all of them are deaf and mute.  They take their timing cues from a bodhisattva who stands off stage.  The second link is a still image of them.  Notice that each hand has an eye in the middle of it.  When you first start watching the video, you may think you are seeing one woman standing in front of some kind of video screen.  Not so.  It’s all live, all carefully coordinated.  Pass it around.  Maybe we can get them to come to the States.


Dance of the Thousand-Armed Bodhisattva


Still Image of the Thousand-Armed Bodhisattva



 

October 10, 2007

The Only Way I Know of to Live a Human Life

A response to “The only Way I Know of to Alleviate Suffering,” an essay by Darlene Cohen which offers wisdom and compassion for students studying or interested in the Alexander Technique, especially those suffering from pain or illness.  Though she is a Zen practioner and teacher, not a teacher of the Alexander Technique, this essay is nonetheless of great value to students and teachers of the Technique as well as to countless other readers.

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August 25, 2007

Gavito as Philosopher of Tango, and the Alexander Technique as Tango's Basic Philosophy

Is teaching tango the teaching of philosophy?  Is the study of tango the study of wisdom?

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August 12, 2007

The Deeper Meaning of the Copernican Revolution

An Excerpt from the introduction to the forthcoming book, Postcards from Ulysses.

You can read a summary of the book by clicking HERE.

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July 15, 2007

Rational Means for Irrational Times Part I

The Future of the Technique–and the Human Species–in Light of the Climate Crisis and the Threat of War, Terror, and Nuclear Disaster

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July 14, 2007

Rational Means for Irrational Times Part II

An analysis of the crisis of our times from the perspective of the Alexander Technique.

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July 05, 2007

The Myth of the Primary Control

A response to thoughts by John Nichols.

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