Moon When All Is Gathered In

Trading Moon, Sassafras Moon, Thanking Moon, Frost Moon, Moon When the Rivers Begin to Freeze, Fledgling Hawk Moon, Scraping Moon.

Snowy Mountains in the Morning Moon, Moon When All Is Gathered In.

Sunday was a lovely, breathing day. In the morning, Amy and I got up and did an experiment. We went to a service at The Wayfarer’s Chapel in San Pedro. It’s a beautiful place, where we held Dad’s funeral and where DA had a deep afternoon soon after Mom died. So just being there is a nice being in touch with those feelings. In the beginning of the service, I felt a strong pleasant sense of Dad’s spirit sitting beside me — his hand, and his approval of our experiment. This was the first time I’ve felt that from Dad, so I sat with it as well as I could. I remembered how, in his person, he was heavy with bitter disdain for “modern church music” and how, in his passion for real ecstatic Music, he would rant against the timidity and ignorance of anything lesser offered as spiritual nourishment. And I felt how, in his spirit, there in church with me while hidden mediocre singers launched into weak electric-acoustic popular cheerfulisms, he was still laughing at them — but laughing, now, light-hearted.

Towards the end, when I was itching to get out, a hummingbird hovered a long time in the trees, facing the sanctuary from the other side of the glass walls. It felt like Mom’s spirit, outside in the real current world, mobile and focused and free, calling me back from the chapel’s old insufficient frame, its house within a house.

It felt right to be able to sit in church and feel keenly and without anger its living deadness, and at the same time to feel how my heart could look forward to some potential engaging New World analogue — what would we call that, dead alive? Ha. I felt empowered towards whatever that analogue might be, and the day unfolded into real physical inkling possibilities. New performances upcoming. New groups coalescing.

Last night I dreamed:

I’m learning coreography for a film I’ll be in. My partner / the coreographer is a middle-aged passionate gesticulative serious-artiste European man, dressed in black, who speaks with an accent (Frenchish). We are under a big tent-top stretched over four structure poles with open sides.

In the middle is a white descending tight-spiral staircase. The man shows me my part — we work together on it — to take two seductive steps descending and then feint into a sliding motion down, where he’ll be after a turn or two to catch me and do more dancing together. My movements are passionate but exquisitely, refinedly feminine. Part of me is fully capable of moving this way and the choreographer man has full confidence in me. In performance, I’d wear red. Part of me watches almost incredulous, laughing and impressed but, What??

Then, in the middle of our area is a center pole topped with ribbons of strong lightweight rubber, muted red and blue. Inspired, I lift / reach up and take certain hold of some ribbons, wrapping my wrist for strength. Hanging from the ribbons, I begin to twirl through the air round the pole’s top. I ascertain that this motion won’t hurt my neck, and I feel that my arms are strong enough. I fly with languid confidence — there is a joy I’d be able to express if this didn’t take so much focus and calm. My body moves and finds graceful forms with such elegance. The choreographer is delighted, stands watching rapt, Bravo!

After, I sit near a woman in our show, a colleague. She is older with long gray hair. I ask her, “Have you seen The Signifier?” (The title of the film we’re producing, which exists in another production.) She says no. I say, enthusiastic, “We should totally have a party and watch it!” Being with these people makes me want to get drunk with them — smoke weed, drink red wine, celebrate.

Obvs there are limitless thoughts here.

I’ll just lay some Alan Watts on you, which popped up online today and led to the dream film’s title before pointing me right back around to sitting in church:

‘The symbol reveals God, but wrongly used it hides him. An idea, a doctrine, a sacrament, a spiritual exercise hides God when we use it as a means to hold him – that is, when we use it monkey-fashion as a comfortable and convenient technique for acquiring sanctity by imitation. Used in this way religion becomes a series of conventional ideas, conventional feelings, conventional spirituality and conventional good deeds utterly divorced from real life, which is to say God on the one hand, and on the other – walking, eating, breathing, digging potatoes, writing letters, watching birds, feeling sick, loving your wife and children and taking a bath. “Every moment,” wrote Dom John Chapman, “is the message of God’s will; every external event, everything outside us, and even every involuntary thought and feeling within us is God’s own touch.” But we are scared of that touch; it may burn; it may kill. Therefore we let it be circumscribed in a conventional religious pattern. Instead of laying ourselves open to full mystical possession by God the reality, instead of trusting ourselves to the living Spirit as he gives himself to us in every moment, we cling desperately to these symbols and idols, setting up new ones of our own making when the old are broken.’ (‘Behold the Spirit’ 1947: 63-64).

And dig how “God the reality” hangs out around boho wacko pomo artists in a constant state of serious play. The dream dance felt like suddenly realizing that brilliant childhood fantasy of running away with the circus. Only it’s work. Really really really really really excellent work.

I can’t not look it up when a word like Signifier pops up in a dream. Signifier is Earth, is la parole, is the feminine. But that reading was more interesting in its pointing to the dance. The dance In that spirit — and noticing that the dream dance happens under/within a post-structure, let’s do today’s word (with copious editing by yours truly; these folks do know how to go on):

Post Structuralism

  • Post-structuralists hold that the concept of “self” as a separate, singular, and coherent entity is a fictional construct. Instead, an individual comprises tensions
  • Post-structuralism rejects the idea of a literary text having a single purpose, a single meaning, or one singular existence.
  • A post-structuralist critic must be able to use a variety of perspectives to create a multifaceted interpretation of a text, even if these interpretations conflict with one another. It is particularly important to analyze how the meanings of a text shift in relation to certain variables, usually involving the identity of the reader.
  • How dry. Church-semiotics. Here’s a better try:

    “We don’t have ideology. We don’t have theology. We dance.”

    -Shinto priest to Joseph Campbell.


    ~ by Arrrow Marie on November 9, 2009.

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