Jew: Part II

Sorry for the brief interruption of the daily blog, folks. It was part intentional, part not. I’m not sure if I’m going to declare Saturdays a non-internet day – at least throughout the day, before night. It’s partly as a result of having spent some time with Jews on Friday, who take Saturday off from electronics, and partly, just because I have a hard time moderating my internet use – I’m sure you can’t relate ;)

It was also unintentional in that I was up and out till late on Friday night, with said Jews, and slept in till my Sat morn commitment and was off and running – more like galumphing – for the day.

Friday night was the first night of the Jewish holiday of Passover. The first night, Jews all over the world come together for a ritual meal called a seder, at which we retell the story of the Jewish slaves’ liberation from Egypt. You may remember this from such movies as “The Ten Commandments,” or Disney’s “The Prince of Egypt.” ;)

I have heard, and don’t quote me, that if you do nothing else Jewish for the whole year, if you participate in nothing else, do a seder, and all-ish is forgiven. Basically, it’s another way of saying that the most important holiday and event of all, is the seder. The retelling of the escape from slavery to liberation.

I was invited this year to a friend’s not-a-seder seder, which was to focus on social justice themes related to items on the seder plate – i.e. there’d be a stand with an egg, and then all kinds of social and food justice issues that currently surround egg production. There would be a focus on how are we today slaves to things, and talk about liberation from them. Where are people in the world actually in conditions of slavery, and what could we do. Etc. The room would host the elements of the seder, but there wouldn’t, in fact, be a seder – the telling of the story.

I was surprised to find myself telling my friend that, actually, I sort of wanted to go to a seder.

There are very few ways in which I still feel connected to the Jewish community. I had worked at a Jewish non-profit for a little while before school; then I’d taught at a synagogue Sunday school last year. But this year, save the one time I went with my friend Barb to a “Young Adult” Friday night service, and then was invited to her house for Rosh Hashana (New Year's) dinner … well, I’ve been pretty a-religious.

I am not religious. Haven’t ever been religious, and don’t have a hankering to be religious. What I do have a hankering for is the community. The stories, the mishpucha – family.

On Friday night, at this table of probably 40 people, even though the majority of us didn’t know one another, we were family. There was a moment when a particular part of the story was recited by 5 “extra” languages around the table – English and Hebrew, of course, then Yiddish, Russian, Spanish, French, and Japanese. It was the melting pot of Jews. The family next to me was in town on holiday from Argentina. This gorgeous couple and 3 gorgeous children, and we all sang the songs the same. We read the Hebrew the same. We banged on the table along with the songs, the same. That’s a hard thing to get in most circles of life -- that feeling of connection, belonging, and connectedness to a shared history.

I recently registered for the online Jewish dating site, JDate. I’d really rather drink piss than a) admit that, or b) do it. But about 2 weeks ago, following a few more conversations with friends of mine, I signed up, and actually paid. I’d been registered on this site for about 2 years, apparently as it told me when I logged in this time, but I’d never paid for it, and so I could see when people had emailed me, but I couldn’t read the emails or reply. I was very unwilling then.

Problem is, I’m still unwilling now. But, I think it’s causing me to see the absurdity of registering and demanding that the person I date be Jewish when I have such a tenuous and almost laughable connection with my own Judaism and my own community. What does it matter if the dude is Jewish if I’m not participating in Jewish stuff anyway? Who cares, then, if it doesn’t actually impact or change my life in any way. You’re Jewish, great, so am I – let’s go get a cheeseburger. …

Not to say that I have an intention to go kosher, but just to notice that I’m looking for a Jewish mate, but not looking for a Jewish community. This seems counterproductive, or somehow just doesn’t make sense to me.

If I want Judaism in my life, personally and romantically, I ought to get out there and go participate in Jewish things. There are fun things to do – I know there are – I mean Jews are comedians – there’s gotta be something to that.

I am not sure what I’ll do with my JDate account for now – it’s rather depressing and makes me feel like there’s scarcity in this world, or that if I were wittier, I’d get more replies, or lied about my height, or something. If I want to be my authentic self, then I ought to start with being authentic to my desire to participate in a community that I love – and whatever happens from that will happen.

For me, Judaism becomes something that when I’m there is part of my blood - And when I'm not, I forget how important it is to me. When I'm there, listening to the “long time ago, Rabbi so and so was talking to Rabbi other so and so, and they were arguing about chickens.” I want to hear that. I want to hear that this thing here represents this about the earth, but this about the spirit. I want to hear the ironic laughter and the punchlines of moral tales passed down through ages. I want to learn and I want to be a part of. I don’t and can’t do that online,

But I can make an effort to do it in person. 

Performance Persona

The first week in May, a few things will happen. On the Tuesday, I will be performing some of my poetry with my creative writing class in an end-of-semester performance in the actual theater at school – for somewhere between 3-7 minutes. And on the Wednesday, I will be performing a scene with a partner for my acting class final performance, where people will be invited in to come see us.

This reflects back to me something I sort of already know about myself and my passions – I have a hankerin’ for perfomin.’ Some folks do; some don’t. – I do.

In my creative writing class, we’re supposed to, or invited to, work on a “performance persona.” I’ve been marinating on this, and not to use what’s apparently become my catch phrase – “Yeah, but…” – I have realized that so much of the work I’m doing and have been leading up to is to drop the persona.

Most of my life, I’ve walked with a persona on of some sort – the shy girl, the drunk wild girl, the promiscuous girl, the “nice” one. I’d like to come back to center for a moment. Or longer.

Basically, I think that my greatest performance persona will actually be my authentic self – that seems to me, for myself, for now, to be the bravest person I can show you on-stage. Now, of course, it is performance, so it’s a bit of an amplified version of self, but it’s not obscured, which I think is how I’d been before.

So, I love the intention, and think it’ll be simply fun to play with a persona, that’s, to me, what acting is about, not performance poetry. In acting, I am someone else, with a different history, mannerisms, inflection. I am shy or wild or promiscuous or nice, and I call on those parts of me that understand that experience, but it’s also acting.

An interesting distinction was made by my performance poetry teacher on Tuesday between the two – he said that he likes to use the microphone and the music stand still in his performances as opposed to without it, as without it he thinks indicates theater, and with it indicates the tradition of poetry and writing. I don’t know that I fully agree, but I understand his point, and it was interesting to then ask myself what do I consider the difference, if I’m using my own work?

What is performance poetry, and what is theater? Do I consider them different if I’m speaking my own work? I actually think I don’t. I think it’s, like I said, an amplified, perhaps more emphatic self, but I don’t think it’s removed from the writerly tradition to not use pages and a stand. When I’ve performed… there it is – I was intending to say “when I’ve performed my poetry in the past,” and that’s what I consider it. I don’t really consider it “reading,” unless, really, it’s reading.

Even when I stand with my papers in front of me, and a podium and a mircophone at a poetry reading, it’s still performance. This isn’t just “reading,” as I would read to you from the phone book, or a text book. It’s enhanced, it’s intensified, it’s amped up inflection and emphasis and meaning and pause. I want you to be moved to emotion. 

Seems like theater to me. 

Although, it’ll also be nice to let myself play with the extremities of a performance persona, just to try it on and have fun with it (who doesn't love a good wig) – I still maintain that my boldest persona is just me, micced. 

R+D

The past two days, I’ve been functioning according to my new time plan – or schedule. My friend who helped me on Tuesday morning suggested things I would never think of myself (or let myself) like “walk,” and then insisted that I write down “piano” in capital letters.

I spend more time than I like (cough – resentment) traveling to and from school because of the shuttle schedule (though I am grateful to have it at all). On Thursdays, for a 4pm class, I’m on campus at 2:30pm, because the next shuttle doesn’t arrive until after 4. So, I have over an hour to “kill” on campus before class.

My friend knows that a spiritual nourishment of mine is playing the piano in the school chapel, and suggested I use some of that time at the piano. If it weren’t written down, I wouldn’t do it. Like, take a walk, or… the “important” piece, R+D.

Research and Development. That’s what we’re calling actions relating to job, career, income earning. I like it so much more than writing down in my new little schedule, “Job hunt.” That just sucks. Makes me dread and despise it before I begin. But “Research and Development” sounds like something significant and helpful for me. Just research. Helping me develop. Not a whip or a chastisement.

So, over the past two days, I’ve spent 4 hours in R+D. This is huge. Usually, it’s looked like a few minutes glances at craigslist, a loud harumph, a resentment, despair, and click the browser closed … and then go off to some other mindless activity to get my mind off my despair!

So, R+D for an hour, I set my alarm clock, then I have something in between before the next hour. Something nourishing. A reward perhaps. Tuesday it was “art,” and I made two little acrylic painted postcards, out of the blank postcard pad I’d bought last week. I sent one off that afternoon. Yesterday, my nourishment was a walk. Although it also included calling my mom and coordinating logistics for her and my brother’s visit in a month. But, that’s alright. I got out of the house, up into the gorgeous hills near me with houses so beautiful (and enviable).

Yesterday, I also began “development” of a newsletter to send out to the masses, announcing my new workshop that I’ll be facilitating in SF in May (G-d willing). Part of my “Go big and go home” movement is to really take ownership of this workshop, and to really put it out there. I have great support around it, and have been encouraged by numerous parties. Now, the action ball is in my court, and with those structured moments of time, I’m picking up that ball.

So, yesterday I went into Constant Contact, that mass email newsletter site. I logged in, actually, although I couldn’t remember when had been the last time I did – I knew that I had an account with them. Turns out, saved in the draft section was a newsletter I was working on in November of 2010. It was a very ambitious letter about starting an creative events company. It’s more than overly ambitious, and I think very sweet, now that it’s two years later. But what it tells me is that I’ve been working on stuff like this for a while. And there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work.

I went to brown paper tickets to check out their policies, and saw you can have free tickets too, so as to be a great way to manage RSVPs … not via a “Yes” on Facebook. (I don’t know about you, but I tend to click yes to all kinds of things I later have no intention of going to…!)

Then, through a girl friend, I saw her website for her creative coaching company. And started some work on one of my own. Because really, I know if I were going to attend a workshop, I’d want to see a website.

So, here we are. Taking action. Moving along as scheduled (although yesterday, despite being “art” time, I took a much needed nap!). I will allow for the changes I need as I come to know how I work best. I know 2 hours of R+D in a row is overwhelming. Splitting it up is helpful. I know that 15 minutes on dishes and cleaning a day will save me time in the end, and also help me to feel proud of my home I’m trying so hard to keep.

I have been building toward things like this for a long time. I have co-run this workshop before; I have a teacher singly devoted to helping me put on the free version later this month; and, as irony would have it, I have a decade of administrative, secretarial experience – so I know how to organize an event.

I’m supported in my effort of self love. Which in the end is what this is. 

the sacrificial bull

I’d written some in the blog “The Hero’s Journey” in January, when we’d been asked in a workshop what part of a particular mythological journey we were on. It was the story of the Minotaur, but it begins years before with his father, or maybe even grandfather? Can’t remember.

The part that I identified with in the story was when the hero (one of them) asks to be crowned king by Poseidon, the sea god. The god agrees to make him king, but only if he will sacrifice this gorgeous white bull Poseidon gives to him. The hero, thinking, sure of course, anything, says No problem. And he becomes king.

Problem is, he becomes attached to the white bull, perhaps even falls in love with it, I can’t remember. But he refuses to sacrifice the bull, and instead sacrifices 100 goats to appease the god.

The god is not appeased. And ruin falls on generations of his family, including on the poor not of this world/not of that Minotaur.

I’d written then that I felt like I was at the point in the journey when I’m being asked to sacrifice the bull, but instead have been sacrificing a litany of goats. There were a few things I had in mind as being “the bull,” something I wasn’t ready to give up, and instead would twist myself into a mental and emotional pretzel to keep, thereby “sacrificing goats.” But the gods have not been appeased, the bull remains, and I am plagued.

This morning, while writing my Morning Pages, I was struck by an awful thought. A thought so harrowing, I gasped aloud, “No.” Not this.

I was talking with a friend last night after class, and she is looking to move from her house with 7 roommates, to a more manageable house with 4, perhaps. She told me how much she’s looking to spend, how much she pays now, and that went in my mental hopper.

So, this morning, when writing, when the thought came to me that perhaps I ought to get a room in a house with other people – I was struck aghast. This cannot be my bull. My apartment, with afternoon sunlight, big enough, where people come and say, It’s perfect for you. No, not this.

I was so terrified of the idea of giving this place up for money, to sacrifice this small little studio for a room in a house with roommates that I actually started to tear a little in desperation.

What this did, then, was show me that giving up this housing situation would be another goat. It is not the housing I need to give up, it is the staying small. It is my refusal to put myself out there. And perhaps, I have hit a bottom when this option has become my best thinking’s best resort.

I began to write in the pages that I am willing – I am willing to give up my hiding. To work, to earn, to share my gifts, to stop staying small. I am willing to be big to save this apartment from my own hari kari.

Whether that’s the lesson of this or not, I don’t know. But I do know that I am not at all willing to give this apartment up at the moment. For all I have to say about Oakland, etc., I live in a wonderful neighborhood, close to my communities of choice, and as conveniently located as possible. My apartment itself has become a part of my skin, taking on the tone and tenor of my inner changes – dressed in the swag of my current expression. Not this.

Staying small, hiding, refusing to take the action that will really help me move forward (i.e. really putting on the damned workshop I’ve been working on for a year), not believing in myself and my abilities -- these are my bull. The familiar but horrifically painful and consequence-producing patterns of my contracted, constricted behavior is my bull.

The apartment is not. I still do leave it up to the Invisible Sky Faerie, but faced with the option of giving up this seriously not that expensive apartment, I’m becoming willing to sacrifice my bull. I am becoming willing to Go Big, and Go Home.

The end is nigh

I just like that phrase. So gothic and epic … and Mayan. Just kidding.

(p.s. Following yesterday’s blog and some other recent ones, I start to wonder what is TMI or inappropriate for this forum. But, although I may have walked up to the line, and even then, I may not have, I don’t think I’ve crossed it. So – onward!)

My school inbox is being flooded with emails about graduation regalia, thesis submission costs, thesis filing information, invitations to the end of year event, etc. You’d think there were something a brewin, eh?

May 12^th I graduate. That’s about a month from now, and I’m stoked and terrified. Not terrified, just unclear.

In an effort to get more clear, today I’m going to be taking up a suggestion. A time map. You may call it a schedule. Part of my fear is based on my inability to take action – or not an “inability” per se, but a fear, simply of taking action. What if I try my best and fail? What if I turn down underpaying jobs and end up broke anyway? Shel Silverstein was a wise man when he wrote the poem “Whatif.”

So, to combat vagueness, and the three P’s (Perfectionism -> Procrastination -> Paralyzation), I’m going to work today to create a schedule for myself to include things like revenue generating time (i.e. looking for work); creative time; and grocery shopping(!).

Because without any structure of a 9-5, I’m not doing much of anything with my days. Sort of floating along, with class punctuating the vagueness (and homework not). I don’t like it. I feel then stressed in the 11^th hour, and I don’t have to. So, I’ll work with someone today to create a plan that includes play and self-care and work and effort and the scary things that elicit the above questions.

In a stroke of unexpectedness, I got an email from a gallery owner I know. I’d emailed her nearly 6 months ago to ask if she had any part-time work available and had never heard back. She emailed me yesterday with apologies. This, is something of a surprise, and I’m coming to notice “surprises” as little “G-d shots” as it were. She said she’d love to chat in person. Not sure that she has any work, but that’s not the point.

I mentioned to some folks last month that I would sweep the floor in an art gallery. I would adjust spreadsheets. I would do whatever job would get me into a world of art, artists, creativity. And, suddenly, here appears my acquaintance. I will follow up with her. Little actions produce big results. Is it a coincidence that I’m finally taking some action around work and this email comes in? Maybe.

I’ve decided that I’m not going to the interview at the job I have no interest in today. Mainly, it’s just f’ing dishonest. I’d be lying my ass off to get a job I don’t want. I had the recent experience with the modeling guild of lying and having it coming around to bite me – I think I’ve learned. Furthermore, despite other people’s vocal fears to me which run along the lines of “Just take it,” that is not my value. Not my personal value system, or the monetary and energetic value that I have to exchange.

This surely produces fear (TAKE THE CRUMBS!!!), but fuck the crumbs. I’ve been like Hansel and Gretel in the forest leading myself to the fiery pit of someone else’s oven by following crumbs. I don’t need the crumbs. I need the wiser idea of the stones on the path – the firmer, more appropriate, more honest way of being.

I have help to lay these stones if I avail myself of them, and so, I’m asking for help on the baby steps today. Feels a little silly to ask someone to sit with me while I make a map of my time, but I haven’t been able to do it on my own, and I need help. So, I’ll ask, I’ll receive, and I’ll change. G-d willing. 

LadyScaping

The very first monologue in The Vagina Monologues is “Hair.” It begins, You cannot love a vagina unless you love hair. – This, is something of an outdated sentiment it seems these days.

Why discuss this? Two reasons, firstly, reading some articles yesterday on the effect of porn in our bedrooms, and secondly, because I modeled nude yesterday.

The reality is that nowadays, having no hair down there is very much a norm. Much of that is the proliferation of what it looks like in porn, and long from men associating that look with an 11 year old girl, they associate it with sexual maturity. From a woman’s point of view, this is often not so. I’ve had a few conversations, and run the gamut myself from all kinds of ladyscaping, including the nothing at all – for myself, not for my lovers, though that plays in, of course. But for the majority, it’s like another accessory we get to play with.

However, in art, in drawing and in painting, it’s a different world. I’ve been in art classes where we’ve had live models, and those with hair are much nicer to draw or paint. There’s a feeling of femininity about the look, the fluff, and the mystery. It looks mature, basically. There was the girl with nothing, clean as a baby’s bottom – but really, is that the association you want to make when looking at a woman?

The associations have skewed and diverged somewhere along the line. The artist yesterday made her own approving comments about the state of my ladyscaping, and confirmed that many of the women she sees now don’t have any hair, and it’s, again, nicer to draw this way. Let’s not say it’s the Amazon. We have pride. But, I knew what my job was yesterday, so I “dressed” accordingly.

To tangent from the above, yesterday, I did model nude. It was my first official drawing 3 hour session. Recently, I’d modeled for a photographer friend of mine, but I was very wary of that, considering the state of the interwebs, and the fact that employers, my students’ parents, my students, all have access to it. But, I trust this photographer a lot, and I knew his vision was not porn, but art, and you wouldn’t really be seeing me, as much as shapes and crooks of arms and legs, etc. That said, … nervous fun as it was, I don’t think photography is for me. It’s just too close to life, and for whatever reason, for me, feels too close to intrusive and the fuzzy edge of my own values about my body.

So, drawing. Much better. You get a real sense – she says from her one day’s experience! – of what the artist wants – it becomes a collaboration and a mutual exchange of artistry and creativity. I loved it. I had a great time. It was physically demanding, and I’m getting to learn my body and the limits of my body, but I was also surprised at how well I could hold some of the poses.

And luckily, some were laying down. The artist is currently working on a “death pose” series, so there were some gawky awkward, laying down poses to do. We worked for 3 hours, we chatted, we listened to music, she drew, I posed, it was lovely.

And at the end… she paid me. I got paid!! I wasn’t expecting that at all, as I thought this was just a trial “let’s see if I have what it takes” session, but she handed me a check at the end and was very pleased with my work, and is going to forward my info to other artists, and she wants me back again in a month! How ‘bout them apples!

So, the female form, live, in the bedroom, in the studio – stylized in the interwebs – who is to say what is beauty, what is reality? I have nothing against porn – I’m known to visit on the occasion it strikes, but ladyscaping is personal. And too, I do believe and hope it remains that sex is personal – not virtual. 

The Befogged Crystal Ball

You know that tired where you feel all dehydrated? Blech.

But, what must be done, must be done, and I have to head in to SF in a little while to meet up with a lady friend/teacher of mine. After that, this afternoon, I’m heading to North Beach to live model for a friend’s friend. This is sort of a trial run, agreed upon in a safe environment – one where I feel safe at least, not that the modeling guild wasn’t, but this woman is a more known entity. I’m not getting paid – as she’s basically agreed to see me and see if I ought to try to pursue this more, and for me to see if I want to try to pursue this more.

I had a moment in February when I was still considering whether or not to drop out of the modeling guild – before I’d been on any gigs – when we had live models in our painting class. And it was just so cool. It’s just really cool. Here are these people, and suddenly, they’re art. It’s fascinating and enticing to me, and I called a friend and was like, I don’t know what to do – if I continue with the guild, I have to rent a zipcar to get to the outlying gigs (as I’d lied on the application and said I had a car – as I knew that’d be a requirement – but I don’t, and that was coming around to bite me). Paying the cost of the rental really cut in to any money I’d make modeling, and it was beginning to feel like an exercise in self will, rather than the attendant “ease and flow” that can come when things are a bit more “meant to be.”

So, I dropped out of the guild, having not been on a single job, but having had a lot of good learning from doing the audition as well as the training sessions. And my friend put me in touch with a painter friend of hers, female, who uses live models and would be willing to see if this is a good fit for me or not. Then if it does go well, so the line goes, she’ll let her other painter/drawing friends know about me.

We’ll see. The nice thing about this one is that there isn’t as much pressure. If I need to stop, then I will. If it’s too physically grueling, I’ll learn that. It’s really f-ing hard to stand still for 20 minutes, and then do that for 3 hours in increments. It’s not all standing hopefully – some is sitting. But the “good ones” can do a lot of standing, I think. But what do I know. We’ll see.

I’m also in the process of learning how to pull my life-line tendrils out of San Francisco and root further into Oakland, in a “bloom where I am planted” effort. So, I may or may not be going in to see my teacher-friend weekly any more. I don’t know yet. I’ve been seeing her for more than 3 years now, we’ve been through a lot, she’s seen me through a lot, and there’s fear and sadness about changing the nature of our relationship.

I went over a friend’s for dinner last night – here in Oakland, surprise! – and we were talking about how hard it is to end, or change, relationships that aren’t “bad.” There’s nothing wrong. No one is to blame. It’s just not working any more. My SF teacher and I have had the conversation before, that soon enough, I might want to find someone to work with over here in Oakland, but each time, I’ve said Nuh Uh, I still get so much out of meeting with her. Which is true. I still, to this day, get so much out of meeting with her. But the commute is a killer and it’s dragging me down. An hour and a half to get there, to meet for an hour, and then an hour and a half back is … not an efficient use of my time, and despite my trying to “make it work” and let it be “okay,” it’s just not. And, I’m finally becoming willing to take action around this change.

It is weird to change the nature of a relationship, from one that is more mentor/pupil to potentially just peers/friends, without rancor or dishonesty or blame. There just isn’t that, and so it gets to just be sad, but also freeing as I get to be honest about my needs and what I’m available for.

I’m not sure if I’ll “pull the plug” today. I don’t know if that’s the most nurturing thing for me to do today with the end of school coming, and this woman having watched me go through all that it took to get to school at all. But, I’m approaching the place of accepting that this is necessary, and that I’m willing to make the change, though I’m scared of what happens then.

As someone said to me recently, “I have a crystal ball, but I just don’t know how to use it yet.”