Repair the World…?
“Every act of loving human kindness, no matter how great, or how small, repairs the world…”
-Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D.*-
‘I’ve been a victim of.. a selfish kind of love… it’s time that I realize…I see the kids in the street.. without enough to eat… who am I.. to be blind –pretending not to see their need…?”
-Michael Jackson* -
I have been working on a “Repair the World” concert since January of this year. Well, actually the random choreography, that I had no idea what I would do with, emerged in January. It surfaced after an imposed four month break from teaching. This “break” came suddenly and unexpected in September of last year.
I had arrived to teach my class one morning, and the owner of the studio where I was renting space, unbeknownst to me, was packing up and moving. Imagine my surprise! And with that, I had three classes, and no place to teach. It was one of those disorienting, unanticipated changes of plans and direction that, more often than not, come after a major event in the life and lives of Bere’sheet Ballet. We had just completed a successful presentation and participation in a sacred dance workshop…our first-ever official one. That was on 9/11 and 9/12 of 2009. 9/14 found me staring at packed boxes as I went to pay the rent. The economic disaster of last year had finally found the studio in our humble neighborhood where all of us gathered. In reality, I had been presented with a Divinely orchestrated opportunity – a badly needed break that I would have never taken on my own…some “down time.” As my sister so lovingly reminded me yesterday, “God will often do for us what we will not do for ourselves.” So, I handled all of this by immediately signing up for two dance classes in other studios. It was my turn to be on the back row, be the student, groan through someone else’s warm-up, stumble through someone else’s choreography, wonder who’s body I was inhabiting and why I could not find my left foot, and, most importantly, to not be in charge. It was wonderful. And to affirm this new season, not one studio owner where I inquired for space was interested in renting to me. Some were downright rude. And that lasted four months…
January came, and Sonia, an original member of Bere’sheet Ballet, called me after her two year break and wanted to come back to class. It just so happened that she was still working in administration in a studio where I used to rent and, “Ta Da!” there was space available for me. Somehow I had not inquired there. So I showed up with some new moves, scheduled three classes a week and prayed people would show. Most of them returned. And those who did not were replaced with new gals. It’s all good. And we started to pray together as we always do…and play together and move and dance, and God showed up to join us…as God always does. Still drawn to Michael Jackson’s stuff and that mysterious impact of global loss-the redemptive themes I had been listening for manifested in his work, and with that, a renewed passion, consciousness and responsibility to “repair the world” invaded my heart.
The quote from Dr. Remen’s book bears repeating, and in fact, I think, is even worthy of “ bumper sticker status”: “Every act of loving kindness, no matter how great, or how small, repairs the world…” I first became aware of Dr. Remen at the first “Womenspeak” held in San Antonio, Texas in March of 2007 …“Womenspeak”: a conference for women, and for a few brave, women-loving men), originated by the courageous visionary and author, Paula D’Arcy, founder of The Redbird Foundation, (http://www.redbirdfoundation.org/) . The event was one of those “game changers.” Then in 2010, March of this year, Paula did it again; this time in Mobile, Alabama. The focus once again, was “one woman can change the world.” It was held in Mobile to honor the historic and courageous Harriet Tubman, a slave in the South who organized the “underground railroad,” and helped free hundreds of fellow slaves from the Confederate South into the free Northern states. I attended as a guest artist. There was no way I would have missed this event, having been to the life changing conference that was the first Womenspeak, and mainly because Cynthia Clawson was also a guest artist and we were going to “sing and dance together.” And then there was God…and the surprise and awe of the rich spiritual meal that had been prepared for us.
As I sat there listening and entering in to the Spirit of it all, I was moved by the stories of one woman after another who had the power of God’s love and vision in their hearts. I was provoked by their life’s experiences to ask – “What am I doing? How can my life impact someone else’s for good? For changing this corner of the world?” How can my writing, my dancing, my singing, my music, my photography, my prayers, my position, my job, my public speaking, my medical practice, my priesthood, my friendship, my parenting, my cooking, my laughing and my crying, my love of God change the world for good? How can I be a part of healing the planet?
Back in the 70’s, there was a vagabond teacher/preacher who always encouraged his congregation and students to pray whenever they went somewhere to minister, “Lord, send the Lazarus…,” meaning that someone who was going to be the big impact to their community after a touch from God. Which meant for us, if we were simply faithful to do what our calling and passion was, and to “Be,” we could inadvertently empower a Moses, a Saul of Tarsus, a Gideon, a Mary Magdalene, a Martha or Mother Theresa. Their transformed lives could change a community…a world. Thus was the call to all of us who attended Womenspeak in Mobile: impact a person for good. Make a difference. Listen! BE! Follow your passion. Help repair the world.
Back at home, my choreography began to take on another layer of meaning, and about a month later, death and oil exploded into the Gulf of Mexico. At this writing, the foolishness of all of the top hats and junk shots has stopped. The well is capped, and somehow the oil in the Gulf has “disappeared.” We have seen multiple horrific pictures of greasy pelicans, dead ocean life, heard the fake and foolish non-safety rules of a huge and powerful company, seen the filthy oil-covered reeds in the marshes of Louisiana, worried about the eggs of sea turtles, seen the greasy black gooey globs on many sandy beaches, avoided eating Gulf shrimp and wondered. Now most of us have moved on. It will be a while before we feel the impact, but our lives have changed in many ways forever.
In her late 50’s my mother went back to college and got her Masters Degree in environmental science. This was long before awareness of our environment and the “move to go green” was ever accused of being political. Mother was a high school science teacher for years. I helped her grade papers, and grew up with many suspicious-looking science experiments in various parts of the house. One was the infamous Styrofoam cups buried in aquariums filled with dirt, as opposed to paper cups. We all know which one decomposed. It is how we grew up. No microwave ovens, no fast food, no preservatives; our medicine was nutritious homemade food, balanced meals, (I watched one of my brothers choke on hated spinach several times), and we were dosed with cod liver oil and liquid iron washed down with orange juice as we headed out the door to school; ‘never had a pop tart in my life. We were rarely ill. It was a way of life. When Hurricane Audrey hit Louisiana shores in the 50’s, since we had gas cooking and the electric power was out everywhere, we cooked all the food in the freezer, and fed the neighborhood. We took food to the hungry on a regular basis through the Welfare League, and when Mother, along with some of her cronies formed one of the first Ballet Companies in Louisiana and we performed The Nutcracker, she organized bus transportation for underprivileged school-aged children from all over the area so they could see a live theatrical production: Providing them with a cultural and beautiful experience, encouraging their dreams, expanding their vision. In the heated 60’s, she received threatening hate mail from violent students in her chemistry class who refused to do their homework. She did not balk. They turned it in any way or failed, and then she hauled her china and crystal to her classrooms for an end of the year party. She helped form the Children’s Museum, the Symphony, the Little Theater, etc., etc., and wrote publicity for the newspaper for different arts organizations, bribing the editor with her famous marshmallow brownies. When she died, her shoes were too huge to fill. I have quit trying…
But her greatest instinct was to “repair the world;” to make things around her better. It was how she coped with the various disappointments that life dealt her. And there were many. Or to put it her way: she was “Just doing my job.”
This morning I pushed myself out of bed. I am a chronic insomniac. I always have been. If I am asleep before 2:00 a.m. it is a successful night. Therefore, getting moving in the morning at the same time the rest of the world does, is a challenge. But today I did it, and faced the early morning not only around seven-ish, but with a cup of Jasmine tea instead of the pot of coffee I always have. I do not know how long this will last…Maybe just a day. This will take a lot of re-structuring. But I must tell you what I would have missed: Two hummingbirds battling for a purple bloom in my prayer garden, a bright red cardinal arriving to remind me of God’s flair for décor, the sun rising over the flower garden, illuminating the miniature black eyed susans, the sound of a blue jay warning everyone he was on his way, the squirrels cleaning up the ground around the statue of St. Fiocre, and a gentle breeze that has just a tiny seductive hint of a new season coming. I tried to meditate. Forget it. But I sipped my tea and watched the busy show. It was prayer; hope.
And now another September 11th remembrance has come and gone: this one warning us of yet another monumental cosmic shift. I teach class tonight in another new studio space. Thank God I did not have to wait four months for this one. It is time to get moving and repair the world -Whatever that means for you…for me.
*My Grandfather’s Blessings, Stories of Strength, Refuge and Belonging, Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D.
*Man in the Mirror, music and lyrics, Michael. J. Jackson
Copyright Marie Plauche’-Gustin. September 2010
