This epic flamenco performance is a goosebump-inducing reminder of the body's ability to invoke and convey grace and power.
May I be a guard for those who are protectorless,
A guide for those who journey on the road.
For those who wish to go across the water,
May I be a boat, a raft, a bridge.
And now as long as space endures,
And as long as there are beings to be found,
May I continue likewise to remain
To drive away the sorrows of the world.
Everything is a gateway to something else. What are you stepping into, and how?
"Accountability is so important, but it happens in community. There’s no such thing as a community in which all harm has been exiled. I think we have much harder work to do than we want to do here. The easier move is us vs them, victims vs perpetrators, sane people vs Kanye, everyone vs men. But it’s not true.
"What’s true is [that] trauma makes weapons of us. And fools, and secret keepers, and collaborators in harm. What’s true is that trauma is both singular violent events and the ongoing constant socialization of ‘power over’ for those deemed superior because of skin or penis or ability or inheritance or something else they didn’t create or do. If we are going to grow, we must embrace truth telling. We must generate our compassion. We must learn to set and hold boundaries within community, on this planet we share. We must learn what is worth our attention, and how powerful our attention is. We must get more passionate about healing than we are about punishing."
"I want to reverse the assumption of where political power is located; it is often privileged classes that are the most impotent, most afraid, and most committed to all four of these subjectivities [indebted, mediatized, securitized, represented], because that is the context in which we have our privilege and our power. The image of the mystic, the person who has left home (in the Buddhist context), the desert traveler who has nothing to lose and is not afraid of protecting their property.... This person who is not afraid of anything—this is the figure of the unconditional warrior that we want to claim for our politics."
Excerpted from a thought-provoking interview with Acharya Adam Lobel on The Arrow. Read the whole thing here.
“Being human always points and is directed to something or someone other than oneself. The more one forgets oneself, by giving oneself to a cause to serve or another person to love, the more human one is.”—Victor Frankl
Carson Davis Brown's installation project about creating visual disruptions in places of mass:
"The way we consume images perpetuates the abyssal production-consumption cycle. This has contributed to a flattening of space and culture into 'non-places,' as evidenced by the proliferation of the 'Big Box' store (supercenter, superstore, or megastore).
"Mass is a series of installations that capitalizes on and intervenes in an ecosystem of already existing objects within the retail landscape. Components for site-specific installations are culled from products in the store and arranged for their formal relationships—repetition in color, form and type. The products are altered only in their relative position, yet their actual context remains the same.
"Using the very environment of their economy without permission or purchase temporarily lends them an aesthetic, punk quality, but this disruption has a very short lifespan before being dismantled and restocked by store staff and/or shoppers, dissolving back into the consumer goods lexicon they emerged from. The installations are photographed prior to being disassembled, printed in the store’s photo department, placed in unpurchased frames and staged as unsanctioned exhibitions in the store’s home department. Any given exhibition contains images of dozens of different installations; the longest running show being 30 minutes before the frames were ultimately purchased by attendees--i.e. consumers."
See more photos from this project here.
“In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And an outstanding reason for choosing some...spiritual-thing to worship is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never feel you have enough. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you...Worship power—you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on. Look, the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful; it is that they are unconscious.”—David Foster Wallace
q: how important is the sexual force to you?
a: extremely. it is what drives you, i think obviously it is not literally only in sex but it is vital to include it into the choreography of all things.
As a teen, I would often ask myself, "What would Bjork do in this situation?" She remains one of my heros. In this interview from last fall, she interviews herself.
"Maybe loss shows us some basic truth about who we are: we are tied to others and to place. Those bonds form us. It's not like there is an 'I' that exists over here and a 'you' over there somewhere. When I lose you, I lose me too."—Michael Stone
It's been a season of loss. My bastard-of-a-cat (whom I loved fiercely, regardless) was fatally ill and wandered off one day in November, never to return. Certain sounds mimic his pawing on the apartment door, and my heart still does a flip of joy before my brain can catch up to remember that he's not coming back.
Worse, my Gramps died on Thanksgiving night. I could tell you what a relatively "good" death he had, surrounded by those he loved in the house he lived in most of his life, but there's some unspeakable quality to his absence that feels blasphemous to talk around. Christmas Eve dinner without him was heart-achy and eery. My grandmother told us she had to get rid of his favorite chair because every time she walked into the living room, she kept expecting to see him in it.
For the last month or so I've been reconfigured by grief: the sudden, visceral understanding that everyone I love will someday vanish, leaving bright gaps in the spaces they once occupied, and that coming into contact with these countless spaces will cause me pain in ways I can't predict. When spending time with the living I sense, in brief flashes, that I'm staring into the abyss: I know they're slipping away, and I don't want them to go. The more intensely I love, the more afraid I feel.
And yet, there have also been these swollen, about-to-burst moments when I'm suddenly able to hold this bewilderment in kindness—to make room for whatever fullness rides in on one breath and out on the next, to allow myself to weep loudly and sleep heavily, to feel each thing I touch with my hands. When that happens, it's like opening the door to greet a homely kind of joy: a dense, raw weight on my heart that is, most paradoxically, so life-affirming.