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This Dance of Life

 

Though the health benefits of gyrating along with others have been well-documented,

I went to a college where, at the time, “most forms of social dancing” were prohibited;

Perhaps for the reason that one of the greatest dangers of dancing

Is that it makes it very difficult to think.

And thinking, of course,

Is a great security.

 

If your students stop thinking for a hot minute,

It’s very likely they will instead begin to experience,

And in real time,

For themselves.

And if they’re out there dancing with life 

Instead of securing themselves against it,

There comes a very real threat to the security of something else.

 

 

Fiddler Jones by Edgar Lee Masters

The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind’s in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off, to “Toor-a-Loor.”
How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill–only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle–
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.

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E-Koans

 

If you don’t attend a monastery,

And have no access to a master,

Thereby no koans to test your attainment…

 

…Try Quora, grasshoppah!

 

Here are some lovely Quoans:

 

Are humans and animals the same?

What does it mean to dream about someone asking for help?

and

What does trivago mean?

 

My own answers to Quorites are here.

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Crossing The Threshhold

All art is made in the moment;

And all that is made in the moment is art.

 

 

 

The secret to performance is no secret at all;

But instead what remains when there are no secrets remaining.

 

 

 

During my final year of graduate actor training at the University of Delaware’s former Professional Theatre Training Program, I took up brush and ink painting. During rehearsals, when not acting, I would quickly paint scenes from the production I was part of on cold-press watercolor paper no larger than a postcard.

Of the many hundreds of sketch-paintings I did, there were only two that painted themselves.

These two remain sacred to me, and reminders of the gateway before which I stood many times… never crossing the threshhold fully, though poking my head through unknowingly from time to time.