aftercurrents
Dear Michael and Anneli, or Anneli and Michael ;)
I'm simply writing to touch base, express some thoughts, nothing too
profound. I'm noticing that it's difficult today to feel so separate from
the experience on Saturday, where it was such an emotional experience and
it felt like an opening in some ways where i got to see mself form
different perspectives and feel my environemnt with such painstaking and
beautiful sensitivity. it feels distant now and that's making me feel a
little bit sad because i felt so mcuh closer to myself then -- but now
that i'm writing this i'm realizing that it's not that i'm less close to
myself now, it's more that i'm with a different part of myself, and I
guess it's best to also give that space to be seen, felt, and valued. It
feels good writing because it reminds me that we're all holding this fort
together, this developing vision, and it helps me to see from a bigger
perspective, which I guess is part of why community is so important. to
hold the vision for eachother when some can't hold it for themselves. now
that i'm writing this email, and feeling connected, i'm realizing to honor
the parts of me that aren't so intense, the more rhythmic mellow aspects
of who i am which help to ease/cool the intensity and and help me to live
sustainably (without burning out). I remember when i was leaving on
saturday Anneli, you said to reach out if i feel it's right, and that made
me think a lot -- it made me think about how difficult it is for me to
even access that place that wants to reach out, and once there, for the
timing to be right for someone to be available ... mostly it takes me
along time to trust, loooong time. One piece of great advice i got
recently from someone close to me is to take it slow, inch by inch,
Anyway, this email is a sort of trial in connecting, trying it on and
seeing how it fits. Thank you for being here listening.
With Love,
Asya
posted november 25th by asya |
A PIECE OF SOUL @ ESALEN DANCE RETREAT (3/2007)
GRACE
I want to speak about GRACE and how dancing enabled this GRACE.
31 years ago my father died. He was 59. I will be 59 this year. I was a
junkie then, a morphine addict. We were not speaking . As he lay dying, I
would go thru his pockets, looking for money, money to cop my morphine. He
watched me but could not or would not speak. He lay there silently. I
stole his pain medication too. I told myself it was OK. He refused to
use it. I visited him in the hospital every day. My connection was just
blocks away. Several days before the end, my mother came to me and told me
I should go to my father and tell him that I loved him. This would be my
last chance. I refused. He died. My father was a man who had fought for
the civil rights of American blacks in the 1940s, but he refused to accept
his gay son. He ridiculed me. He made disparaging comments about me. How
could this soft, gentle, caring man be so cruel to me? I was so very angry
at him. I have carried this burden for 31 years.
About 5 months ago, I began dancing on Sundays with Anneli, Michael and Jo.
My mother is 90 today. She has stopped eating and speaking. She lies in a
bed in New York City, with a tube that goes directly into her stomach - to
feed her. She is somewhere between sleep and death, closer to death. The
only sound in that room is the click and whir of the feeding machine and my
mother’s labored breathing, sometimes a moan. I live in California. In late
January, an unexpected business trip took me to New Jersey. I had no
intention of stopping to see my mother. What for? She wouldn’t know I was
there. And the core reason, a very old and very deep injury. A hurt I had
never allowed to heal. One that I could not forgive. When I was very
young she told me a # of times, in anger, that I was a “mistake”, an
“accident” and the wrong sex. My mother had wanted a daughter, not a 2nd
son. I do not believe she really wanted a 2nd child. “If I had known I
was going to have a 2nd son, instead of the daughter I wanted, I wouldn’t
have had you.” My hurt and rage around this issue has been incalculable.
It almost killed me, driving me to stick needles into my arms. I thought
about Sundays and the dance. I thought about the courage it took for me to
dance freely, expressively in a room full of people. I thought, if I can do
this, I can see my mother. I went to see my mother. We were alone. I bent
low and spoke into her ear. I held her hand and stroked her hair. I told my
mother I loved her and I knew she loved me. I told my mother that I
forgave her and I knew that she forgave me. I told
my mother that she had been a wonderful mother and had done a wonderful
job. I told my mother that her work was done and that if she wanted to go,
she had my blessings, my gratitude and my love. I released her. I was
with my mother for several hours. I repeated this mantra into my mother’s
ear many times. At one point, while I was speaking into my mother’s ear,
for just a few seconds, she opened her eyes and moved her head up and down.
Then she closed her eyes and was still again. I know she heard me.
GRACE, I danced into it.
Jeff Hasner
posted march 31st by Jeff Hasner (updated february 2008) |
