Flying to San Diego

Airplane cabins are pressurized but there is still something about the altitude, or the dry air, or seeing the world so far below that elicits a magical feeling.  Suspended in air, between time zones, hundreds of miles from familiar places, dislocated from the earth, reference points fade away and one's life, the lives of others, the state of humanity, appear small and compact, and sound in longer phrases.  Some things become so clear just as they lose their edges.  The past and the present meld and give some meaning to the current direction; it seems a seminal experience to fly every so often.

Family Time

We forgot to bring our Christmas present to my grandfather when we went to his home a few days ago and so my father suggested that with the help with one of my brothers, we make an extra trip to his home to deliver it.

It's been raining a lot in Cincinnati, all day yesterday, heavy today, probably more to come.  So we drove through the grey rainy highway, windshields wipers and frosted windows that wouldn't clear, out to Mt.Healthy.

We stepped into the living room, filled with geodes from his son, a geologist, a few telescopes from his interest in the stars, a bonsai, pictures my late grandmother took in Kenya that still hang above the television, less a memento perhaps, than a lingering.  There is a drawer from a type set machine that hangs on the wall and serves as display shelves of sorts, a point of pride from his childhood, when his father had a printing press in their home.

A retired minister, he is a leader in conversational practice.  Listening astutely, opening with questions that might lead to more information about the state of someone's life.  And he shares with us his memories that pertain to our current lives, his trips to England, his children's involvement with music, his own attempts as such.  And then there is a mix of other sharing, experiences from his ministry, glimpses of his character.  He still speaks to and counsels many people by phone, he is a very trustworthy person and reflective, either by nature or by profession.

I have always wondered where he came from.  An only child, raised in a home of parents and grandparents, carrying something learned from them or somewhere else, forward.  If it is not possible to understand something concrete in him or to know his parents, it is certainly possible to see the value of self-reliance he has passed along to the people in his family.

We shouldn't take for granted the opportunities that we have to be with family.  We are a part of one another and can teach one another as mirrors of ourselves.  Sometimes we try to evade it, but when we approach one another, what we are avoiding often changes and something opens.  And what cannot be amended is something from which there is much to be learned, something of compassion for one another and ourselves.

Visit to Waverly

Holidays present a special opportunity to check in with family.  That's largely what they are about.  But it can be a strange thing to step into another's life.

Today we drove to Waverly, Ohio where my grandmother lives.  Because of traffic we arrived later than planned and only stayed for a few hours, exchanging presents, talking a bit, and allowing time for my mother to help my grandmother with some mending and sorting clothing gifts.  And then we left.

We only get a glimpse of what life is like for her.  And it is possible for her to show a specific side for a short period if she so chooses.  And after that period we are left to a long distance relationship, of learning about one another through my mother or occasional phone calls that only connect if they happen to be convenient in our unknown lives.  She goes out to get lunch at a certain, naps at a certain time.  I teach, and prepare for teaching.  It's hard to know what is really convenient and comfortable in terms of scheduled communication.

So it is wonderful to have the opportunity to actually be in the same room.  And at the same time mysterious.  Life goes on for both of us, different challenges and beauties, years and miles apart.

Carl Sagan Goes to the Nutcracker

Another night, another Nutcracker.  It still amazes me that the universe transpired that we should be able to have these experiences, that the atoms have aligned on our planet, in our bodies, that we should create and perceive such a confluence of things.  Sometimes love seems complicated, but perhaps love is simply gravity.  Things come together and interact.  They change one another and are changed.  Even at great distances this is possible with time and persistence.  Seeing and hearing and feeling are miracles of the universe, and we can in turn come to understand the universe through them.  It is a miracle to watch a ballet; to hear music that I have heard many times, each time colored by my memory; it is a miracle to see another midwestern sunset, different from all others.

Home for the Holidays

On many of the streets in New York, Christmas tree vendors have taken root.  There is usually a little hut, or a tarp, or at least a stool, and one of those tubes through which a full Christmas tree becomes entwined in plastic mesh.  Some of the trees are open, some are already tightly tied, but always the smell is beautiful and green.

I'm now home for the week and as such I'm not in New York.  Walking through the Christmas trees was a mix of sinful and useless desire to have one (yes, live trees are so wonderful, but no I wouldn't even be in the apartment on the holiday), and gratitude that I could have a home for a few seconds in the middle of so many, simply on my walk to work.

And now I'm sitting looking at our family tree.  It is undisturbed by my brothers and I fighting to put our ornament on the highest branch, or arguing for color versus white lights (color won).  It is a mishmash of various ornaments collected over the years, completed by my mother's love of fiber optics with a very tasteful angel on the top.  There is the red string which has been on it as long as I can remember, the Nutcracker ornaments, and various other ones that don't even have a category in my mind, but are one with the memory of Christmas.  I remember picking them out of the ornament box year after year and putting them on the tree without really thinking about their purpose or origin, the way children do, and they have remained that way for me, even now.  They are themselves, without category or question.

I can't imagine a tree elsewhere, a Christmas decorated in another way.  The season of advent has existed on the streets of New York until now, just as it has existed in many places.  But now I'm home, with a familiar looking tree, and a beautiful fiber optic angel.

Long Term Teaching

On this last day in New York in 2015 I taught for another teacher's studio.  This is one of the most fun things to do.  I can share something and they are generally receptive to it.  There's no defense on either side, really, because we both know this is a one time thing.  If they come back to their next lesson completely ignoring everything I said, neither of us will know or have to deal with it.  If they misunderstand, no worries, they'll be back on track with another direction.  I don't have to worry about digging in to huge problems, because those will take more long term effort, though I do give some points in those directions.  Maybe they practice what I suggest or not, but they could also listen to my advice, in which case some good can come of it.  It's a win-win.

But there is also something a quite sad about having leave them, about not being able to realize or see any of what I might have sowed.  It takes courage to stick with something, because likely you will see yourself in it eventually.  But it is also an opportunity to see yourself more clearly, a chance to grow yourself and a chance to share yourself with others more deeply.  I'm hoping to start that next chapter soon, a goal for New York in 2016.

Holiday Shopping in New York

It's the season which means shopping.  Often at this time of year that means that I panic because I can't get the things that I want through the mail on time.  But living in New York, it should in theory be possible to get almost anything that I'm hoping to give.  It's simply a matter of finding it, getting there, and squishing through lots of people.  Shopping can be a challenge and certainly today the walking in the cold and the crowds of people were tough, but since New York is already that way, and Andrew was there for moral support, we made it.  It became a journey.  And along the way we found the tree at Rockerfeller and took our selfie in the midst of many other selfies.

Choir Concert

Tonight was the first choir concert I've had in a long time.  It's so much fun to make music with other people and I'm starting to find the joy in the sound of the strings, too.  I don't think I realized how burned out I'd become as a cellist; I hadn't really felt that way at all.  But feeling the joy of singing with others and finding new creative ways of approaching music in general has made me realize how boxed-in the experience of playing the cello had become in many regards.  Even though at the same time I was becoming a stronger and stronger orchestral cellist.  I'm excited about this new chapter of music making, of finding a musical voice in myriad ways which may in turn strengthen them all.

Last Day in Harlem Before Winter Break

Sweaty bodies packed into one another and at every stop, more bodies wanting to get on.  Rainy days in New York are miserable on the subway and yet such a bonding experience for all the people involved.  

It was the last day of teaching in Harlem.  When I entered the school's hallway (there are 3 schools in one building) I was shocked to hear the loud voices of children.  I walked by the classrooms that are usually still, silent, hands folded, and saw a terrifying sight: gingerbread house building.  The smell of sugar was in the air and so was its sound.  This was going to be an interesting day.

And yet somehow, it was one of our most productive days yet.  Perhaps because I dropped my expectations for behavior and just pumped through some very specific teaching points with the promise of a party at the end.  The party never happened; we were actually too wrapped up in the agenda.  I'm still not sure how this happened.  I think normally I would have to be more strict with behavior, but today it wasn't the center of my attention anymore, and that was a nice little vacation.  

And now two weeks before I see them again.  Please dear students, practice.  It is exciting to see the potential start to churn.  Let's not lose too much. 

To Many More Wednesdays

Wednesdays are a challenge at the school.  It's a half-day, maybe that's why.  And we are being asked to teach a piece that is somewhat ahead of what the students are able to do.  And that's a challenge.  It feels like a fists up sort of day.  I go in and get myself ready for the experience.  Ready to hand out corrections for any infraction of behavior, ready to be extra demanding to meet the students' orneriness.

What a strange feeling.  What a wholly unnatural way to be.  After class today I was remembering the poles of Laban's Effort theory.  That in one's expressive movement, one can see in the use of weight, time, flow, and focus (space) the polarity of indulgent versus fighting qualities.  Heavy weight, fast time, held flow, direct focus–these are the fighting qualities.  Light weight, slow time, free flow, indirect focus–these are the indulging qualities.  So often things at the school are meant to be done quickly, with urgency, with direct focus.  And they seem to pull along other the fighting qualities of heavy weight (in the tone of strong voice) and held flow (in the motivation of fear not to get a correction).  But there might be something more to explore here.  Ironically, Laban developed his Effort Theory not for his dance profession but to help factories improve the efficiency of their manual labor.  Urgency can exist with free flow.  Focus can be direct without having strong weight.

I think so often, and especially in New York, I've commented on the many different possible ways that there are to live.  But in oneself, there may also be so many more then what we practice.  How many ways are there to do one action?  There is always another, always something new to explore.

Musicist

It was a busy day today.  I had an interview, taught at the school, and had a choir rehearsal with the orchestra.

In preparation for the interview, I had to prepare a short piece to play and get my thoughts together about my teaching philosophy.  This was a funny thing to do in tandem and certainly so in less than 24 hours.  What do I think about teaching?  What do hope to have private students learn and be able to do through the cello over the course of several years or their lives?  And as I prepared some pieces to play, I had to ask myself, am I doing that?  Would I be able to stand by my words in action?  In the end they didn't even ask me about my teaching philosophy or seem very critical about my playing.  But it was a great opportunity to reflect on this, to see what I might be able to learn from myself.  What do I want from myself as a cellist and musician?

After teaching I went to choir rehearsal.  It is the week of our concert and the orchestra was there, which I had anticipated being a somewhat emotional thing for me.  For years I have been in the orchestra when there was a choir on the concert.  I've been hired to play in those orchestras in the past.  And here I am, in New York, not playing very much; it seemed likely that I would have some longing to be back there.  And yet I didn't feel any missing, which was strange.  I didn't miss being hypercritical about pitch, about articulation, about phrasing.  I didn't miss being irritated at my colleagues for being insensitive about these things or insecure that I was missing something and offending others.  I didn't miss having all of this being under the control or lack of control of the conductor or the people around me.  And I didn't miss making the music on the cello with my hands, when I could be doing it with my voice.  The woman sitting next to me in the choir pointed out the contractor for the musicians and said that she is very nice and knows lots of people.  I should talk to her, get my playing life going.  There she is, right there, the choice.  And maybe I will.  But right now I'm really enjoying singing in the choir; I enjoyed watching the ballet the other night.

Maybe I'm just a little burned out from three years of playing in orchestra and enjoying a hiatus.  I'm enjoying the new musical impetuses of Dalcroze, choir, and the ideals of education and what music ought to be.  This is familiar from my time as a student, the times when I sang in choir in high school, my work on my dissertation with movement and self awareness, my time as a chamber musician.  Perhaps in a little time I will be ready to return to playing the cello as a cellist, but right now I might let myself play a little longer and perhaps return to the cello a little more fully fleshed as a musician.

Dovetailing

I am really interested in developing a studio of students one way or another.  Teaching at the school in Harlem is getting more and more fluid, but I dream of having a private studio.  Flyers are made to invite potential teachers of young children, and possible locations have been scouted to put them.  Tomorrow would be the day except that as of this afternoon I learned I will be having an interview for a teaching position somewhere downtown.  I didn't actually apply and it isn't much time to prepare but I'm ready to take whatever I can, even the experience of interviewing, of collating my thoughts about how I think about teaching.  

There are so many opportunities in this world, and it is exciting to mingle with them, but can also sometimes feel disorienting.  I sometimes miss the solemn loneliness of days in Japan.  And though "solemn" and "lonely" are not words that would often be associated with childhood, I feel them in this way in regards to Japan.  I felt like a child there in my solemnity and solitude.  There was something simple and centered, free of thoughts and urges, other than those which continued to vibrate from my former western life.  

I wonder if New York will be the final place I live.  Something in me imagines that there will be another location somewhere.  But I wonder what will trail off from it.  Will I miss this impetus to create, this drive to be involved and interact in the world around me, to do whatever I wish to do, to be willing to be stressed for those around me?  What I am learning from New York?  And how will I continue to learn from Japan?  

Excursion to Inwood Hill Park

It seems stress is inevitable.  Our bodies are made to do it and they do it in order to survive.  We should be thankful that we have this incredible ability.  Without it perhaps life would seem empty, boring, meaningless.  We become stressed because something matters and we are called to respond to it with our whole being.  But what to do about it?  Sometimes it's useful to have that added adrenaline.  It gives us the energy to push through an all-nighter, tough week, a race, an audition.  But often it is out of our control and then grows out of proportion.  What to do?

I think we have a lot of control over stress, actually.  There are many responses to it, some more healthy than others.  People meditate, say affirming things to themselves, drink herbal tea.

Today, Andrew and I wanted to do something, so we took a 1 train up to 207th Street to go to Inwood Hill Park.   We walked through an hispanic neighborhood with lots of used appliances and clothes being sold on the street and grocery stores with Spanish labeled produce until we got to the entrance of the park.  People often say that they think they would miss greenery living in New York City, but there is actually a lot of nature here, in its own urban way.  We walked up the hill through the woods, and found a little spot on the black top turn around near the top to look over the connection of the Hudson and the Harlem Rivers.  Trains went along the north side and across the bridge, a highway flowed behind us, but there were dried leaves on the ground, the rustle of the wind through the bare branches of the trees.   We walked down and found a climbable tree and a dog park, reminders of a different frame of mind.

If we can focus on the source of stress, perhaps it can be moderated in such a way that we can use it as needed and disregard it as needed.  But quite often, a reminder of the other options for living can help center us as well.  Nature is always such a calming resource, and it is true that some of the stillness that it can engender is not as prevalent in New York City as other parts of the country and the world.  There are still many people on the paths, people who are not in the hiking mode of friendly greeting, but rather in the city mode of blindly passing.

But still, it is something.  It is a small reminder–and perhaps even more stark and necessary in the fast-paced, kowtowing, driven attitude of New York–that there is another life, a life that existed long before us and will likely continue after us.  Nature provides a bit of respite, a humbling opportunity in the midst of a stressfully ego-centered life.

Mark Morris and Cadman Park

This evening I was given a surprise ticket to Mark Morris's The Hard Nut, a very different interpretation of the Nutcracker.  The story of the Nutcracker and its relationship with the music is such a familiar trope, so to see a new version where men could be snowflakes, the party is in a modern apartment, and the young heroine falls for Drosselmeyer's nephew was strange but refreshing.  Whatever gaps there were in this new fantastical plot were filled with the musicality of the Morris Dance group, their rhythm and sustain.  I look forward to seeing future shows by them.

Afterwards we walked through Brooklyn, claiming a little more of the map of New York, finding ourselves in Cadman Park, where the trees were blue and orange in the night lights and sky, and the open astroturf welcomed white clouds against the black beyond.  I had been here before, been lost here before with my mother and had been guided by a stranger to a station.  So tonight, I knew where to find it, walked from new to known, covering more ground in this huge city.

Reliving New York

We have a visitor from Europe who Andrew knows from Cambridge.  This is his first time in America and he wanted his first time in America to be in New York.  It's exciting to hear his excitement of all the things that have come to be New York, his amazement at Chinatown, at Wall Street, Times Square.  The old world comes to the new again.  Past grievances which are engrained in the European lifestyle are erased in this country, though not without replacements.  It's a reminder of the special place that this country has in the world, in its ideology and optimism.  Despite the shortcomings in realizing those ideals, America is still a beacon.

Tonight we had tacos in the West Village and listened to some jazz at Smalls Jazz Club.  Tomorrow it sounds like he'll be going to Central Park, perhaps to play some chess, and then likely to Brooklyn.  And the day after, off to Boston, the real reason for his travel across the Atlantic, for a conference.  But he wanted New York to be the first impression he had of America and he will come back again before he departs to Europe.  It's fun to be a part of that introduction, to be an ambassador of an exciting place that is still just barely my home, but a very significant part of who I am.

De-stressing

Today it was a vocal trio and a comedian that graced the commutes.  Perhaps as the winter sets in the performances will increase and my budget will have to adjust accordingly.  New York really expects a lot, even from people randomly asking for money on the trains.  One must show some skill, some ability, there is competition even there.  It trickles up and it trickles down, the stress comes from all over but it makes people attempt to be their best and in the process a performance emerges and the stress is relieved, for a moment from everyone.

Shared Readings

One of the pleasures and pains of New York City is riding the subway all the time.  It's crowded, people come through to beg for money, it's sometimes on time and sometimes not so reliable, and it can be too hot or cold or wet, depending on the weather.  But overall I generally enjoy it for several reasons.

Firstly, it means seeing lots of different people, some of whom are really different.  Unless you have a driver, or are brave enough to drive, it really is the means of transportation here.  Yes, there are taxi's but the people of the subway occupy many walks of life not suited for such decadence.

Then there are the musicians that grace the platforms and occasionally the subway cars themselves.  There is a lot of diversity in the music they are sharing and a lot of variety in their ability as well.  Pan flute players with soundtracks, erhu, steel drum, classical violin, jazz combo, vocal ensembles;
any variety of numbers and styles exist underground.

But perhaps the real thing that I like about subway travel is that there is little to do but read.  10 minutes here, 15 minutes there, and somehow books and articles are eaten.  It's hard to stop life to find the time to read, but if it is the time that you are spending traveling, then there is nothing you can do about it.  

I am currently reading a book that I quite enjoy, The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.  It's set in New York City which also makes it interesting to read as I ride the trains.  This evening, as I was standing next to the train door, I finished a chapter and looked up to see a 20-something-year-old girl standing next to me, looking at me.  "How do you like it?" she asked with a smile.  "Oh I'm really enjoying it," I said.  "I love her descriptions," to which I answered, "Yes, and also the characters."  She nodded in agreement and said, "Enjoy."

And then we both awkwardly arrived at our mutual stop, but upon exiting the train, knew one another no longer.  It broke the rule of New York anonymity that we should walk together, outside that sacrosanct space of the subway train car.  But still I think I saw her as she left the station and walked out onto 87th street.

Shout-outs

Yesterday something happened during group work in my class.  I had asked a more advanced student to work with beginners on identifying note names in a piece of music while I worked with another student.  When we all came together after the 10 minutes, the students with whom he was working accused him of disrupting their focus so that they would get in trouble.  Others seemed to agree.  I remained neutral and didn't punish him in anyway since I had no grounds, but nevertheless he began to cry.

Sometimes this happens in classes.  In observing other classes I've seen it happen more than once which is a fairly high percentage.  The atmosphere can be quite intense in such a pressurized educational environment.  But still, I didn't want this to be the norm.  I took him aside to try to calm him down, but he was so upset I could only have him sit alone and catch his breath.

School is hard.  Kids don't seem to realize that their words and actions can be as hurtful as they are.  That probably goes for adults, too.  But it is clearer to see in the interaction with children.  As an adult, we have learned some basic rules–whether or not we understand them–of how we should behave with one another to roughly get along.  But it can be hard, really hard, to be a kid.

So today we did "Shout-outs," five minutes of opportunity to say what someone did well, or in what way they were supportive.  It was such a change of voice in the room, to decompress and appreciate one another, to be grateful.

We so rarely do this as adults.  There isn't an adult to tell us to do so.  There are so many things that can be perturbing about others' behaviors.  They may say things that are offensive or hurtful, but what if, under guiding eyes and ears, we were asked to say something good, something that we appreciated about their presence?  Or maybe about any particular situation that can be challenging?

Teaching is a very interesting endeavor.  It is a like a little microcosm of the world.  What is important for students to learn?  How are we going to cultivate that?  And perhaps most tellingly, are we living that way ourselves?

Streets and Subways

I thought it was stroller when I got on the train but as I squeezed in the car I realized it was a folding chair with a hoodie over the back.  It wasn't until I saw the drum sitting in front of it that I realized we would be serenaded by something other than the crying cat in a carrier at the other end of the car.

It was a new route for me.  A ride down from Harlem on the 3 to 42nd Street, then a transfer to the R to get to 28th Street.  The lettered trains are still so exotic to me, especially ones at the end of the alphabet.  I'm a 1,2, and 3 person, generally, and enjoy the opportunity to collect more letters and numbers.

The occasion was a private party for the music program for which I teach.  It was an end-of-the-year celebration for staff and board members.  I had the street address for the place, but the same wasn't true of the building.  The first restaurant I entered had no private party, but upon asking they sent me next door to a small wine place.  I tentatively entered, wedging my way in with my cello and asked the same question.  "Looking for a private party," I said.  And the woman said, "Follow me."

She led me through a small hallway and towards a large, warm, back room which I scanned for familiar faces.  Nothing.  She turned to the left and gestured, "Just down there, first door on the left."  I followed the trajectory of her hand down chipped, narrow concrete steps to a cellar with a low ceiling and what appeared to be a service door.  Hmmm, was this the same private party?

There below the seen, was a hidden little cellar with bottles of wine on the walls and the people for whom I was looking.  I came in, stood awkwardly for awhile, my friend and I sort of played a piece that we had run through twice (late notice), I talked to some really interesting people and ate some really good hummus, and then squeezed my cello back up the stairs and through the red and white wined people of the counters and tables out to the street.

Sometimes the sirens of emergency vehicles grace the streets but this evening the soundscape was punctuated by a pick-up truck with a giant electric menorah on which was written, "Happy Chanukah!" playing loud music.  Shortly thereafter I walked past and then stepped into the 28th Nader Food Market which enticed me with its huge containers of nuts and dried fruits and at 9:06 pm it was still open, negligently or not.  It was a sale of $8 for the man who had been in the back and I was happy to have the almonds for a good price.

In the subway station on the way home a woman saw me with my cello and got extremely excited.  "Ooooh you gotta take my picture with that!"  People can be crazy sometimes, but I let her pose with my case until she picked it up a little too close to the tracks for comfort.  And that was enough.  I quickly got it back and handed her her phone, relieved but a little sad that I didn't have a copy of her interpretation of what it means, apparently, to have a cello in the subway:  super tough and cool.  She even got her outfit to show.

There are so many things to see and take in.  And it seems so natural to let one slide away into the next, to be phased by nothing, constantly underwhelmed even by the incredible.  It would be a shame to be so stressed as to not see it or remember it.  What a crazy place.

Different Skies

I just returned to New York after a weekend in Madison, Wisconsin where I participated in a belt test with the Tae Kwon Do club there. Stepping out of the airport I was greeted by an open sky, blue air, empty sidewalks, and buses running every half hour.  

Twice a year, the Madison club hosts a color belt test to which people from all over the country come.  There were people who had been studying with the head of our club for over 20 years, who have been committed to this practice through multiple moves and life changes, who have adapted their practice and stayed connected to the foundation of the community in Madison.  These meetings are an opportunity for everyone to meet again, to learn from one another, not unlike a conference.  But they are also an opportunity for the color belts in the Madison club and the students of past students of the club (now black belts living elsewhere) to try to do more than they think they are able to do.  It is a day of growth in a supportive environment.  

Just under two weeks ago, I spoke with my instructor and we decided that I should also be involved in this test.  It has been discussed that I should try for my black belt this year, for which there is a preliminary test in March, and this was meant to be an opportunity for me to try in the testing atmosphere and to get some feedback in that arena on things on which I should focus.  There are forms, blocks, kicks, combinations of blocks and kicks, physical tests, mental tests, sparring.  All of these are worthy of consideration, trying to build a strong test.

Once we had this conversation, at relatively late notice for preparation for a test, I got to work.  Since moving to New York I have certainly maintained my Tae Kwon Do practice, but admittedly the stress of living in the city and adapting to a new job and identity has taken a lot of my focus.  Practice sessions have been shorter than I would probably like, intended mostly to stay in shape and in touch with the concepts less than pushing myself to focus on their improvement.  

There are times when I have a deep desire for devotion.  I think it is a wish to connect with something truly significant in the midst of the many demands of daily living.  I understand the wish to be religious, the feeling that there is something important towards which our lives point.  And in these two weeks I was reminded of a hint of that devotion, which I have cultivated in the past through this practice, but which has of late been muffled in this new life.  It was comforting to know that it is still there, that others are practicing it, working hard with their bodies and through reflection to come to greater self awareness, greater awareness of others, and a greater ability to contribute and share within their community.  The individuals of this club are remarkable people, but the club as a whole is an unbelievable gift.  It is a gem living in Madison.

It's comforting that it is now not as far away as it was a year ago.  It was such a joy to be able to be there for this test, after missing them for three years.  It was a joy to be able to make sound with others, to jump in unison with others, to try and support one another, and to have the guiding support of our instructors.  

But there are so many of us that do not have the benefit of checking in with this remarkable club four times a week for their classes.  We have to hold it inside of us, to remember that it is there, and to bring it to life wherever we are.  That is the requirement of finding something that you love.  You have to share it, otherwise it will die with those that gave it to you, it will die with you.  As much as I wish that I could be with this group all the time again, as I was for 2 years, I think it would miss the point.  It is important that the members there are cultivating their strength and spirit, but so too is it important that I cultivate it in myself, in my world.  That is devotion.  It may be lit by another but it has to come from inside to continue.

When I arrived back in Newark, New Jersey I was surrounded by so many languages again.  People, people, people, walking and moving around one another.  There was no sky between the airport and my destination other than at a crowded train platform.  People pushed and shoved to get on the train, to get off the train, the subways, the stairs.  This inertia can be draining.  People, people, people, everyone looking at one another and past one another, touching and thwarting.  It's a numbed free sparring match.  

It's so easy to be caught up in what is around us.  Or to think that what is around us is all that is there. There are things unseen, underneath, and within.  They are the things that we carry with us, the way that we carry with us, our being and state of being.  We can practice in ourselves.  Any sky, no matter how distant or unseen, can be touched by our light.  

Freedom

Immediately after I finish teaching my Thursday class in Harlem–telling my students to check their bodies, to keep their voices at zero level, hands folded, tracking me or the speaker at all times–I take a train down to 72nd street, walk a few blocks to the Lucy Moses School and become a student in a Dalcroze class.  Dalcroze, for anyone who is familiar, is a way of approaching music in a very holistic manner, of engaging the body and the mind's ear, of improvising, moving, changing and exploring what one hears.  It's a very visceral approach to music.

I enjoy the class a great deal.  We always start by moving to an improvising pianist, trying to discern what teaching point they are trying to convey, using our bodies to show rhythm patterns, meter, register, dynamics, anacrusis, anything that we hear.  We talk about it a bit and move some more.  And then we use simple kids toys to show musical elements–balls, scarves, bean bags, hoops.  Again, it's full of exploration.

I found myself so intrigued by the scarves this evening.  My partner and I quickly came up with a solution for showing form in "Old Grey Mare" using scarves in different ways, and so I started putting them together to make different colors, throwing them around, twirling, and just openly playing with them while the other groups tried to make rhythm games with their bean bags and tennis balls.

Oh the joy of freedom.  What is the cost of it?  Why are my scholars not to move?  The truth is that I understand.  I understand that it makes it harder to have a focused class when students are moving and speaking as they wish.  So really, what is the cost? What is the cost of freedom and what is the cost of stifling it?