From our head to our heart

At the turn of the century, Ted Shawn, a young seminarian called to the ministry, was stricken with polio. Somewhere deep inside, he heard another, although very unlikely voice, calling him to dance.
So. That’s what Ted Shawn did. With great difficulty he quit divinity school and began to dance, and slowly and miraculously, he not only regained the use of his legs, but went on to become one the fathers of modern dance. (With his wife Ruth St. Denis, Shawn co-founded the Denishawn School in 1915, and later became famous for his company of male dancers performing works that embodied a vigorous, masculine style. In 1933 he founded the Jacob’s Pillow Dance Festival in Becket, Mass., as a summer residence and theatre for his dancers.)
In his book, The Exquisite Risk, Mark Nepo points out the compelling power of Shawn’s story:
Studying God did not heal him.
Embodying God did.
“The fact of Ted Shawn’s miracle shows us that Dance, in all its forms, is Theology live. This leads us all to the inescapable act of living out what is kept in.”
“The earth braces itself for the feet of a lover of God about to dance.” (Hafiz)

Ted Shawn’s story is not about the absence of loss of theology or belief. It is about the movement of being; from our head to our heart. It is about living from the inside out. Embodying is the accurate verb here. Because he lived from the inside out, Ted Shawn pursued his passion. And his passion allowed him to live fully human and fully alive.
To live “embodied” will mean turning the way we process (or see) reality on its head.  Embodied, our life is a journey or a movement toward continual healing (or wholeness).
Here’s the way the story translates to me: we no longer see any obstacle—or complication or hurdle—as a derailment. You know, something to get past or over… before life “really” begins. Maybe, to be whole–or to live embodied—is to love whatever “gets in the way.” (And yes, maybe even calling us to dance…)

My Christian faith is predicated on the incarnation; which is the embodiment of God. The fully “humanness” of God. And yet, my upbringing placed a premium on being “saved.” And in many cases it was about being saved “from my humanness.”  It was all about “arrival,” which turned out to be code for knowing whether I would be “in” or “out” of heaven. Even though I was taught the magic words, a sense of fear pervaded my days. Why? Because I was not quite sure whether I believed or said or practiced the correct creed or prayer. My understanding all hinged upon a cerebral connection to God or salvation. This much was very clear: any connection to my humanity or passion (that I knew to be true, deep in my soul) was to be mistrusted and kept buried.
Here’s what I missed: “salvation” is the journey to become whole.
This doesn’t come easily to me. Because I do allow obstacles to irritate me. To derail me. I am assuredly a candidate for some kind of remedial course on Zen. (Or some kind of course on inner-peace-for-ADHD-multi-tasking neurotics?)
Case in point. Not long ago I was on retreat. Decided to open my email. Saw 90 unread. I growled and whined. My friend says to me, “Why do you let it bother you?  Just think of it as moving energy.” “Why don’t you move your own email!” I said… compassionately.
Okay, she has a point. As long as I see any obstacle as something to be overcome, I am embattled. I am stuck. I am at odds with myself. All of my energy goes into the eradication of the setback. And I cannot hear the “voice of embodiment,” which is the voice of grace.

Sometimes we let our identity (our groundedness) give way to the cacophony. We give space to our reactive self, responding only to the noise. We listen to all the reasons of what we aren’t, or can’t be. Reasons that block. And we forget that we have the power to choose. We forget that the “dancer” inside is alive and well. The part of me that is wholehearted, and from the heart. From the core. And this I know: it is the dancer that makes a difference in an upside-down world, spilling passion, hope, joy, creativity, vision and courage.

I wonder…
In what ways can we live out what has been “kept in?”
In what ways do we embody our passion?
In what ways can we live today, fully human, fully alive—moving from our head to our heart?
When Native American medicine men talk to the sick, they usually ask three questions:
When was the last time you sang?
When was the last time you danced?
When was the last time you told your story?
That’s a good place to begin. This is a good place to be present. This is a good place to rebuild and to heal.

I’m always grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with friends in Anaheim at the Religious Education Congress, where I have been speaking for 40 years. A wonderful place to tell stories. To laugh and to cry. And borrowing from Krista Tippett this week, “There, the very quality of our presence to others, moment to moment, is powerful — an ordinary power we scarcely appreciate to ‘make someone’s day’ with patience, kindness, generosity, gentle words. There too, in the places we can see and touch, we can cultivate the ‘proximity’ Bryan Stevenson counsels as key to meaningfully attend to the hardest chasms and wounds in our world. In proximity we can tangibly approach understanding and intelligence and impact that most of us cannot begin to exercise over most of this hour’s unfurling news.”
Onward together my friends.

Quote for our week…
Dance is the only art of which we ourselves are the stuff of which it is made. Ted Shawn, Time Magazine, July 1955

BULLETIN BOARD

Today’s Photo Credit: “You know Terry, I was initially sad about the blur of the trees silhouetted before the sunset. Then, my friend the Holy Spirit nudged me as He always does to ask me if I was missing the message… that He was saying a bold I Love You and not sending a perfect photo capture moment. Oh–sometimes I’m so slow to just listen and truly receive the gift as it is given! Peace,” Sheila Flanagan…. Thank you Sheila… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com 

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Letters that do my heart good…
–Hi Terry, Yes I got it, look forward to reading as I always have looked forward to reading what you had sent me years back. It just so happened I was reading one of your Sabbath moments, you writing about your Dad being as he was a Brick Layer, your involvement as a kid and years later as you and your dad revisited the houses that were built as your last thoughts for a Sabbath moment. Your precise writing keeps those who read living in hope, sacredness, quietness of our souls. I miss Washington state, I use to live on Steam Boat Island Olympia, Now I live across the Nation in Maine. There are many Islands here in Maine. Now that I am retired I plan on buying a small hook up to my SUV camper visit all of Maine and New Hampshire. Still have some of your books I reread now and again along with Frog and Toad. Read those books to my stepson when he was a small kid. Todd
–Hello Terry, Though we are both way too young to belong to the senior center, I have found new life with painting and Mick with a creative writing class. We never know what will come our way when we “pay attention”. We thank you for your continued reminders to find sabbath in the ordinary.  I love that image. Blessings for a new year. May you keep talking to the sheep, tending the garden, drinking the wine and spilling the light. Gratefully, Joanie
–Thank you Terry for walking the Camino and sharing your experiences with us.  I am excited each day to see where it takes you and as I pray for your journey I feel God is walking with you and I’m also at your side. I have always wanted to do the walk but life and family have always gotten in the way. I know there’s no way I could do it so instead I’m walking with you vicariously. God bless and many more blessings to you.  Waiting for tomorrow to see what He has in store for us. Your brother is Christ. Deacon Larry
–Hi Terry, I hope you are healing and I appreciate your letting us accompany you on the Camino. Thank you for the Hafiz quote and the story from Denise Roy.  My quiet place where I can rest and sit and ponder is my sun room filled with plants that give me life and a little extra oxygen boost as well.  Lately its been a bit nippy in there – 50’s without the heat of the house but i like to think I can be dormant in a way with my plants – hunker down and hang out with my feet in the soil.  Blessings to you and all you do to shine the light for the rest of us!  Shalom, Patti