Salsa Dancing and Grace
January 11, 2010
One of the saddest lines in the world is,
'Oh come now---be realistic.' The best parts
of this world were not fashioned by those who
were realistic. They were fashioned by those
who dared to look hard at their wishes and
gave them horses to ride. Richard
Nelson Bolles
The miracles of the church seem to me to rest
not so much on faces or voices or healing
power suddenly near to us from afar off, but
upon our perceptions being made finer, so
that for a moment our eyes can see and our
ears can hear what is there about us
always. Willa Cather
From a small open doorway, light spills out
onto the darkened cobbled street. It is
evening; I am walking a familiar calle in
Antigua, Guatemala, toward my friend's house.
Salsa
music pulsates through an open doorway, and
mingles with the night sounds of the city,
sating the surrounding air.
There is little that is subtle about Salsa music. You viscerally feel it, deep into your gut, and as it takes hold, it fashions a blend of exultation and giddiness.
I am in no hurry. So I stop. And stand at the door sill of Salsa Chapina, and watch. I am an audience of one.
The light, in a room no larger than 12-feet-square, comes from bare bulbs--overhead, rudimentary and in no way nuanced. But then, this scene does not require the "correct" lighting in order to create mood or affect.
I watch two young people (in their early twenties I am guessing), learning to dance Salsa. The instructor counts, 1-2-3-pause-5-6-7-pause. They (students and instructor) are unmindful (or unconcerned) about my presence.
I know this: The music massages my own weariness.
And some kind of weight is lifted from my shoulders.
On the streets of Guatemala, watching two kids learn to dance, I feel an unusual mixture of enthusiasm and infatuation and sensuality and eagerness and hope and buoyancy and trepidation, and a rare childlike bliss.
It is not surprising that when I leave the door sill (the music still in the air as I continue on), my mind goes through the requisite quiz needing justification for the existence / presence of some crazy infatuation with life. Even if it is only for a moment.
I have already been asked about my time here in Guatemala, "Was the trip meaningful?" (For those who follow my BLOG, you know that I have been (for this past week) at the mercy of dentists and periodontists. For those of you who do not read my BLOG, I will tell you that I have been (for this past week) at the mercy of dentists and periodontists. This is the kind of rhetorical information that made me a good preacher. With very lengthy sermons.)
When asked (in the past) about whether some event or trip was meaningful, I have made up answers, just to garner high regard or respect, I suppose. Or perhaps, I wanted to hide the truth that I didn't really know if it was meaningful and, in fact, feared the opposite. What if whatever I came here to learn, I surely missed? It's kind of odd, don't you think? They way we're always measuring our life only by the serviceable or useful benefits. (It has something to do with our need for the sum of the parts to add up.)
I am reminded of the scene from the movie, Shall We Dance? Richard Gere plays a bored or tired or stuck Estate lawyer, who "knows" his life is perfect, and yet, realizes that something is missing. In one scene, on his L-train commute, as the train is stopped at a station, he looks up to a window where a young woman (dancer and dance instructor, played by Jennifer Lopez) stands, staring off, lost in reverie. The moment is alchemy of longing, dreams, and passion, a yearning for what has been lost or buried or hidden.
Not that we don't get it. We all get it. The truth is that it is easy to grow tired or bored or overwhelmed or to feel defeated. To some extent, we (every single one of us) juggle (or have a friend who juggles) the effects of life's untidiness, whether it is lost income, lifeless marriage, emotional misgivings, children off-script, health strains, job uncertainty or a future colored by fear.
But why, oh why, in heaven's name, are we so eager to make life more manageable by creating a more palatable explanation? Or even worse, pretending the above doesn't exist, except in our minds, where an attitude adjustment is the simple solution.
Here's the deal: meaning comes with presence.
In other words, "Be there, when you are there."
And the really good news is that this is true for the life we give to others around us, as much as it is true for our own life.
Dr. Irvin Yalom writes, "(She) described the horrible days of her cancer's recurrence. . .She cried when she told me about calling her surgeon, a friend of twenty years, only to be informed by his nurse that there were to be no further appointments because the doctor had nothing more to offer. "What is wrong with doctors? Why don't they understand the importance of sheer presence?" she asked. "Why can't they realize that the very moment they have nothing else to offer is the moment they are most needed?" (Momma and the Meaning of Life)
I understand the temptation. Often when I write, I tend to edit before or while I am writing. Often when I garden, I critique as I plant or tend. Often in love, I play my cards very close, until I am certain (although oddly, I never really am), that I will be safe.
I am afraid to simply. . .be.
Whatever that may be: uncertain, sad, hopeful, optimistic, lost, empty, delighted, lethargic, resentful, indebted, sanguine, at the mercy of.
Maybe that was the stab of joy I experienced, when I watched those kids dance. I found vicarious gratification watching someone fall into the moment (literally to fall into life), and to be buoyed by the power of the dance.
Of course, there is the hassle of letting go; you know, of conditions, expectations (scripts) and requisite outcomes. It means no longer linking the sentence, "That didn't turn out like I planned," with a kind of filter that prevents us from touching all of the sensory, corporeal, potent, earthy, tangible and mystifying parts of life.
Here's the deal: I know that if I hang on to my filters (all those "shoulds"), something of life is leeched from me. "Let go of control." It's sure easy to say. It makes a perfect bumper sticker. However. It's not just about what I let go of, but what I choose to replace it with. There is, nevertheless, more to feeding and nourishing the soul than a list of to-dos and guarantees (sorry, list makers). Whether intentional or serendipitous, you can't always plan for expected results.
Yesterday, I walked by Fernando's. Fernando sells coffee, and chocolate. Very good coffee and heavenly chocolate. This automatically should qualify him for all guidebooks. And sainthood.
On this day, he is making chocolate. He shows me the great burlap sacks filled with cacao beans. And the time-consuming process from there, to the bite-sized squares of bliss. Fernando's son (still a teenager) has made a ganache, and is filling truffles. I taste one (although my periodontist forbade it). I ask the young man who taught him. "Mi hermana," he tells me. He smiles as he tells me. Like watching the young people dance, in his smile, there is a window into the fullness of life.
So. Back to the question about my trip. Well. It's not the right question.
Don't get me wrong. I'm in favor of the larger questions about "meaning," and finding reasons, and explanations, and even enlightenment. But first, can it be enough to just savor forbidden chocolate? And to salsa until all the angels and saints have joined the party? Or at the very least, watch a couple kids, and let the music seep into our soul.
We try sooo hard to have answers. However. We don't always know when or how the Spirit--and the spirit of life--will cast it's light on the darkened streets of our days. We do know this for certain: when it happens, there is presence and fullness and abundance and sheer unadulterated delight.
For almost daily updates, follow my blog --
blog.terryhershey.com
There is little that is subtle about Salsa music. You viscerally feel it, deep into your gut, and as it takes hold, it fashions a blend of exultation and giddiness.
I am in no hurry. So I stop. And stand at the door sill of Salsa Chapina, and watch. I am an audience of one.
The light, in a room no larger than 12-feet-square, comes from bare bulbs--overhead, rudimentary and in no way nuanced. But then, this scene does not require the "correct" lighting in order to create mood or affect.
I watch two young people (in their early twenties I am guessing), learning to dance Salsa. The instructor counts, 1-2-3-pause-5-6-7-pause. They (students and instructor) are unmindful (or unconcerned) about my presence.
I know this: The music massages my own weariness.
And some kind of weight is lifted from my shoulders.
On the streets of Guatemala, watching two kids learn to dance, I feel an unusual mixture of enthusiasm and infatuation and sensuality and eagerness and hope and buoyancy and trepidation, and a rare childlike bliss.
It is not surprising that when I leave the door sill (the music still in the air as I continue on), my mind goes through the requisite quiz needing justification for the existence / presence of some crazy infatuation with life. Even if it is only for a moment.
I have already been asked about my time here in Guatemala, "Was the trip meaningful?" (For those who follow my BLOG, you know that I have been (for this past week) at the mercy of dentists and periodontists. For those of you who do not read my BLOG, I will tell you that I have been (for this past week) at the mercy of dentists and periodontists. This is the kind of rhetorical information that made me a good preacher. With very lengthy sermons.)
When asked (in the past) about whether some event or trip was meaningful, I have made up answers, just to garner high regard or respect, I suppose. Or perhaps, I wanted to hide the truth that I didn't really know if it was meaningful and, in fact, feared the opposite. What if whatever I came here to learn, I surely missed? It's kind of odd, don't you think? They way we're always measuring our life only by the serviceable or useful benefits. (It has something to do with our need for the sum of the parts to add up.)
I am reminded of the scene from the movie, Shall We Dance? Richard Gere plays a bored or tired or stuck Estate lawyer, who "knows" his life is perfect, and yet, realizes that something is missing. In one scene, on his L-train commute, as the train is stopped at a station, he looks up to a window where a young woman (dancer and dance instructor, played by Jennifer Lopez) stands, staring off, lost in reverie. The moment is alchemy of longing, dreams, and passion, a yearning for what has been lost or buried or hidden.
Not that we don't get it. We all get it. The truth is that it is easy to grow tired or bored or overwhelmed or to feel defeated. To some extent, we (every single one of us) juggle (or have a friend who juggles) the effects of life's untidiness, whether it is lost income, lifeless marriage, emotional misgivings, children off-script, health strains, job uncertainty or a future colored by fear.
But why, oh why, in heaven's name, are we so eager to make life more manageable by creating a more palatable explanation? Or even worse, pretending the above doesn't exist, except in our minds, where an attitude adjustment is the simple solution.
Here's the deal: meaning comes with presence.
In other words, "Be there, when you are there."
And the really good news is that this is true for the life we give to others around us, as much as it is true for our own life.
Dr. Irvin Yalom writes, "(She) described the horrible days of her cancer's recurrence. . .She cried when she told me about calling her surgeon, a friend of twenty years, only to be informed by his nurse that there were to be no further appointments because the doctor had nothing more to offer. "What is wrong with doctors? Why don't they understand the importance of sheer presence?" she asked. "Why can't they realize that the very moment they have nothing else to offer is the moment they are most needed?" (Momma and the Meaning of Life)
I understand the temptation. Often when I write, I tend to edit before or while I am writing. Often when I garden, I critique as I plant or tend. Often in love, I play my cards very close, until I am certain (although oddly, I never really am), that I will be safe.
I am afraid to simply. . .be.
Whatever that may be: uncertain, sad, hopeful, optimistic, lost, empty, delighted, lethargic, resentful, indebted, sanguine, at the mercy of.
Maybe that was the stab of joy I experienced, when I watched those kids dance. I found vicarious gratification watching someone fall into the moment (literally to fall into life), and to be buoyed by the power of the dance.
Of course, there is the hassle of letting go; you know, of conditions, expectations (scripts) and requisite outcomes. It means no longer linking the sentence, "That didn't turn out like I planned," with a kind of filter that prevents us from touching all of the sensory, corporeal, potent, earthy, tangible and mystifying parts of life.
Here's the deal: I know that if I hang on to my filters (all those "shoulds"), something of life is leeched from me. "Let go of control." It's sure easy to say. It makes a perfect bumper sticker. However. It's not just about what I let go of, but what I choose to replace it with. There is, nevertheless, more to feeding and nourishing the soul than a list of to-dos and guarantees (sorry, list makers). Whether intentional or serendipitous, you can't always plan for expected results.
Yesterday, I walked by Fernando's. Fernando sells coffee, and chocolate. Very good coffee and heavenly chocolate. This automatically should qualify him for all guidebooks. And sainthood.
On this day, he is making chocolate. He shows me the great burlap sacks filled with cacao beans. And the time-consuming process from there, to the bite-sized squares of bliss. Fernando's son (still a teenager) has made a ganache, and is filling truffles. I taste one (although my periodontist forbade it). I ask the young man who taught him. "Mi hermana," he tells me. He smiles as he tells me. Like watching the young people dance, in his smile, there is a window into the fullness of life.
So. Back to the question about my trip. Well. It's not the right question.
Don't get me wrong. I'm in favor of the larger questions about "meaning," and finding reasons, and explanations, and even enlightenment. But first, can it be enough to just savor forbidden chocolate? And to salsa until all the angels and saints have joined the party? Or at the very least, watch a couple kids, and let the music seep into our soul.
We try sooo hard to have answers. However. We don't always know when or how the Spirit--and the spirit of life--will cast it's light on the darkened streets of our days. We do know this for certain: when it happens, there is presence and fullness and abundance and sheer unadulterated delight.
For almost daily updates, follow my blog --
blog.terryhershey.com
Poems / Prayers
When I go mad,
I call my friends by phone:
I am afraid they might think
they're alone.
Theodore Roethke
My Sweet, Crushed Angel
You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.
You have waltzed with great style,
My sweet, crushed angel,
To have ever neared God's heart at all.
Our Partner is notoriously difficult to follow,
And even His best musicians are not always easy
To hear.
So what if the music has stopped for a while.
So what
If the price of admission to the Divine
Is out of reach tonight.
So what, my dear,
If you do not have the ante to gamble for Real Love.
The mind and the body are famous
For holding the heart ransom,
But Hafiz knows the Beloved's eternal habits.
Have patience,
For He will not be able to resist your longing
For Long.
You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Trying to kiss the Beautiful One.
You have actually waltzed with tremendous style,
O my sweet,
O my sweet crushed angel.
Hafiz
Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so.
One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face into the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.
Mary Jean Iron
Dear God,
If the light of joy is cast on the streets of my day,
give me the courage,
to bask in it,
and if possible, to dance.
Amen.
News and Notes
NEWS and UPDATES
The Best Spiritual Books of 2009 -- By Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat spiritualityandpractice.books
Books to Nourish Your Soul from 2009 beliefnet.com/2009
Cathleen Falsani's new year column, syndicated via Religion News Service, of the most intriguing thoughts and prayers from 2009.
suntimes.falsani
Speaking of resolutions. Here a great New Year idea. Starting January 10 and continuing for 30 days (SIGN UP TODAY), Loyola Press will send you an email pause reminder -- a powerful pause for each day. Gentle reminders as a way to trigger those parts of our soul that can stop and listen and pay attention.
There have been some gracious and heartfelt reviews for The Power of Pause. I am grateful. But as you know, the more the merrier. In other words, reviews on Amazon really do make a difference. IF you have read The Power of Pause, I would be honored. . .really. . .if you would jot a few thoughts to pass the word.
amazon.com/Power-Pause
BE INSPIRED THIS WEEK
NEW Terry Videos --- Let your light shine (Shine I and Shine II)
youtube.com/TerryHersheyMedia
Rest in the Garden. New Winter Photos from Terry's garden.
Now archived on Zenfolio. Check them out, and enjoy.
Terry's garden
A compilation of clips of salsa dancing, from a variety of movies. The song is Rebellion by Joe Arroyo. This will make you glad to be alive. And will make your Baptist grandmother cry.
youtube.SALSA
Another kind of dance. Patrick Hughes is a young man at Univ. of Louisville who was born blind and crippled, yet plays the piano beautifully as well as "marches" in the Louisville marching band. This report from ESPN TV.
youtube.HUGHES
FAVORITES from last week:
On June 24, Iranian Superstar Andy Madadian went into an LA recording studio with Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora and American record producers Don Was and John Shanks to record a musical message of worldwide solidarity with the people of Iran. This version of the old Ben E. King classic is not for sale. It's intended to be downloaded and shared by the Iranian people, to give voice to the sentiment that all people of the world stand together. The handwritten Farsi sign in the video translates to "we are one". If you know someone in Iran - or someone who knows someone in Iran - please share this link
youtube.com/standbyme
Watch Terry on 30 Good Minutes - The Power of Pause
New Video. Plus, Video interview. Plus, Audio download.
Terry.30GoodMinutes
RESOURCES TO HELP US PAUSE
1. NEW Terry videos with pause
reminders
Find them on the new Terry
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the word.
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2. NEW Pause DVD.
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3. Terry's NEW
BLOG. . .do less, live more.
blog.terryhershey.com
4. Rest in the Garden. Photos from Terry's
garden.
Now
archived on Zenfolio.
terrydhershey.zenfolio
5. Power of Pause Book
52 Best Sabbath Moments
from the
past six years
THE POWER OF
PAUSE: BECOMING MORE BY DOING
LESS,
power-of-pause.htm
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