There is a lake in the mountains of North Carolina that we travel to each summer. It is here where reposeful days are punctuated by lesser decisions of meals, water skiing, kayaking, or getting pulled around at high speeds on an inflated tube. The time is simple, the space is comfortable, and the feeling is peaceful. We can relax into ourselves and each other in a slowly vanishing Norman Rockwell existence.

The openness of the lake contained by the Blue Ridge majesty allows me to surrender to motherhood without the usual stresses of the day. I can float on the surface of cool water and fully sense what surrounds me. There is a distillation of gratitude and joy that the stage of water sets, and where dreams of summers past rest atop the lake in early morning mist. It is a time when the challenges of reality become profound more in their absence than their presence.

These are the days whose beauty is what some artists long to uncover in a song, on a canvas, in a dance, or in a poem. It is the warmth of my 14-year-old’s olive brown skin, the freedom of my 7-year-old’s dancing curls in the soft breeze, and the joy of my 11-year-old’s shriek as she plunges into the water from a high jump for the hundredth time.

These sights, feelings, and sounds move us closer together and show us what is essential to a life lived with appreciation for people we love, both near and far, in the brilliant performance of a summer afternoon.

Eric Hawkins

RECENTLY I have been writing about dance more than actively dancing, and since this blog is a platform on which to bounce my opinion to the small readership I have, I thought to take the first long day of summer to do so.

This was the first Spoleto where my fellow dancers in Anonymity Dance Company chose not to put a show together, for various reasons. For me, I welcomed not having a ‘gig’ since my domestic schedule was overloaded, and I was finally clear to see my performing days as over. My husband will never believe this; he calls me Brett Favre as I have stepped out of retirement before stepping into it with two feet more than once.

But now that I actually did not show up on a stage and have no plans to do so, I must consider what to do next. That’s why I dove into writing about Spoleto and settled into being just an observer. In the back of my mind, however, I felt the profound absence of an old friend. So before I cross over, I need to honor what has defined me for the past nearly four decades before I figure out what to become next.

Dance to me has always been a life force focus. As a young dancer, I liked the discipline required to learn movement, execute it correctly, and ultimately to communicate with it.

Merce Cunningham Dancers

Beginning in ballet, where there is only one way to do the steps with French names, it took many years to practice and train with a group of like minded people, and to be inspired by teachers whose beauty, grace, and precision shaped me. Later, as a teenager, when I saw other forms of dance, it was modern dance that most spoke to me. I saw a way of freedom with which to move and not just imitate what others did, creating my own ways of movement.

With dance I feel my most powerful and most intuitive self. It is a place where my mind, body, and spirit completely align and I am 100 percent present in every moment. After performing I can remember everything about what I have done. It is in dancing that I feel closest to God or some divine being much bigger than myself. It is a wordless poetry which I feel most honored to be a part of.

Martha Graham

For the past 15 years I have been a teacher and loved sharing my knowledge of movement with young people who usually find something out about themselves through dance. I will continue to train and coach young dancers as I feel responsible for the the education and appreciation of the art form.

With dance, the body leads and the mind follows and in writing the mind must lead with the body inactive, but there must be a way to inform one with the other. I know the wisdom of the body is where it must come from.

So now I must find a way to keep my love of dance alive and embark on a new writing practice. I expected writing to be a part of my “second act” as both my grandmother and mother were/are writers, and it is my lineage to use words to express myself. As my perspective shifts, I will explore  how to keep dancing in a way that leads me to the the heart of writing.

Thomas Lawrence, The Calmady Children, 1823

We were there on the first real Spring day after much rain, when New Yorkers are ready to shed their raincoats and bare their pasty white skin to the sunshine. The Museum of Modern Art was our first destination, and as we spilled out of the cab and marched up to the entrance I saw the line that snaked down the block and (uh, oh) around the corner!

My seven-year-old’s smile dropped to her shoes and tears of disbelief started to appear as I told her it would take no time at all, that this was part of the adventure. I had come equipped with lifesavers and we were soon joined by a jolly friend with games on her iPhone to make the wait more palatable.

Once we were inside, the crowds swarmed, and navigating where to go and how to get there quickly became tedious. I tried to introduce impressionism, pointillism, abstract art, and sculpture, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears and eyes that were distracted more by the people around us than by what was on the walls. And what’s with everyone taking pictures with their phones? Isn’t the point to stand and face the canvas and take it in through the senses? Why not just buy the Tshirt?

The next day, the same case of museumitis flared up in the Museum of Natural History. We had met my mother, who agreed that gallery-going with children usually leaves a lot to be desired, as she well remembered (…mental note: I guess I had not been a prodigal art enthusiast either). And even though the allure of the movie, “Night at the Museum” had bred great anticipation in my girls, it was soon stifled by a plethora of exhibits and stuffed people and animals. Feet began to hurt, appetites became acute. Finally, as we headed through the Silk Road exhibit, the dreaded summation “This is boring” was announced. Where was Ben Stiller when I needed him?

Night at The Museum

A few weeks before, I had taken my oldest—a 14-year-old—to watch a dance performance that I had choreographed for some of my college students. After the piece, I leaned over to ask her what she thought about it, and without missing a beat she said, “the music was not my cup of tea and it was too long.” Everyone’s a bona fide critic!

OK, OK — I know we are not born with art appreciation and that it needs to be acquired, but is it art or entertainment? Must it be both? Absolutely not. In fact, not often can one really be the other.

But I have a lot of work ahead of me, so I think I’ll continue to push gently and wait until the day that going to the museum is a good experience for the whole family. And next time, just maybe, we’ll go to Disney.

Frankly, it took me a while to fully understand what the Sophia Institute was about, but I knew that I was interested and glad that it was in the holy city where tradition can sometimes seem stifling. At the same time, the idea of a place that focuses on spiritual growth and transformation has a way of making some people wary. So I thought I would try to unveil some of the mystique.

As I attend more lectures and events at the institute, I become increasingly excited about opening my mind to new ideologies and schools of thought. As a dancer, I have experienced the harmony of mind, body, and spirit working together to create a moment in time where the physical expresses a thought and uncovers the soul. However, this is not the norm, and when people hear of these concepts, it can seem abstract and “new agey.” But those involved at the Sophia Institute have put  a lot of thought into the union of these entities, as well as a lot of effort into creating a place and community that can field a vision for a more conscious world.

The Sophia Institute is a nonprofit organization that offers workshops and retreats led by teachers, authors, artists, and specialists of national and international acclaim who provide diverse programs for people engaged in personal and interpersonal transformation. In the words of the mission statement, “The Sophia Institute fosters wisdom, wholeness, oneness, sustainability, peace, and interaction of the sacred feminine and masculine for the transformation of self and society.”

Spearheaded in 2001 by Carolyn Rivers, the idea for Sophia came from a transformation of her own self-purpose. As she explains, “Before leaving my career of 27 years, 15 of which were spent working for a major publishing company, I studied with many of the extraordinary teachers that we now bring to The Sophia Institute… opening me to new vistas within my own heart. Creating The Sophia Institute was a profound calling for me that emerged out of my own deep work.”

Founder, Carolyn Rivers

Each year the program includes an ever growing and impressive lineup of presenters. Dr. Jean Houston, Marion Woodman, Joan Boreysenko, Andrew Harvey, Jean Shinoda Bolen, Natalie Goldberg, and David Whyte are just a few of the lecturers, writers, and teachers who Carolyn has brought to town. In addition to the lectures and weekend retreats that can amply fill your calendar, there are ongoing events such as “Women’s Circle” with Carolyn, “Men in Transition” with her husband Henk Brandt who is a poet and psychologist, meditation sessions and discussions with Dr. Lee Irwin, a series of Ecumenical evenings, and yoga classes.

A strong base of Charlestonians attend these events, but Carolyn points out that, “There is a national presence, too, with 49 states and three other countries represented by those who are willing to come here to do our work.” The Sophia Institute has also been working with other organizations including the Fetzer Institute, the Kalliopeia Institute, the Global Peace Initiative of Women, and the Aspen Institute. As Carolyn says, “Institutes can serve as bridges between the old forms and the emergent ones. We all know that much change is needed now, and it needs to be meaningful, conscious, and in alignment with the values that are sustainable—that honor the sacred at the center of life.”

Henk Brandt

Recently, I attended a screening of the film “Fierce Light” hosted by The Sophia Institute. It was a moving documentary by the award-winning Canadian filmmaker, Velcro Ripper, who followed a group of people that felt enough compassion about a particular cause that they did all they could to prompt change through the basics of hope, love, and determination.

Afterwards I was talking to Henk Brandt about the institute and at one point he commented, “So many people are glad that the Sophia Institute is here in Charleston, even if they do not come out for every event. It is mainly a sense of community, of being with like-minded people who have similar concerns and interests.” This is a basic human need, and in today’s world we need all the support we can get. •

Learn more about the Sophia Institute.

It was located behind a house on Murray Boulevard where a group of young teenagers were ‘given’ a small structure in the back yard. It wasn’t very much, maybe 20 feet on a side, with a bar and electricity. But it was ours, and we made it better. Based on the address of the ‘big house’, our place became Pad 39.

Hidden from the inquiring views of parents, and with a lenient landlord—himself a man of the time who fancied good whiskey, cigarettes, and the company of pretty ladies—we were free to act as young or as old as we desired. Our gang would pile into Pad 39 and recline on the single sofa, and drag a mattress from the big house to our house, turn on the fans to keep the lowcountry summer at bay, and drink cold PBRs and Schlitz beer, and smoke red Marlboros or Kools.

For fourteen-year-olds, we were very cool. A few parties, but everyone in those days was pretty well behaved. There were relationships, but mostly it was a pack of boys dancing with a pack of girls.

I got my first kiss at Pad 39: a full blown right-on-the-lips kiss. It was like sticking my finger in an electric socket. It was as powerful as it was unexpected, and it left me in a daze for a day or so. She wasn’t then, and would never be, a girlfriend, and so the wisdom of time explains that she wanted to kiss somebody, I wanted to kiss somebody, and our needs meet in the patio for about five seconds. We were both fifteen.

So every time I see Pad 39 at Cape Canaveral, I think about our Pad 39. We were getting ready to blast off into life, and had our share of dangerous adventures, and it was a great time of life. We had our tragedies along the way, but most of us made it, just like the astronauts will.

But I don’t think being strapped into the wayback of the shuttle, tied to explosive rocket fuel while the whole world watches can compare to that first gentle kiss, in the dark of a hot summer night at Pad 39 in Charleston, SC. •

This is a reprint of a post from Agricola.