The Passion

Last night James and I went to see a dance performance called "Passion" by the troupe Momix (www.mosespendleton.com) at Proctor's Theatre in Schenectady, NY. It was a modern dance interpretation of Peter Gabriel's musical score to the film, "The Last Temptation of Christ." It was stunning. Their expression of the crucifixion was especially beautiful in a profoundly painful way, beginning with a male dancer suspended on a rope with arms and legs outstretched, a position he held for an achingly long time as he slowly spun in circles in the center of the stage. Then two women were lowered on ropes to either side of him, dangling limply, heads down, rotating slowly beside him. As the dance progressed, all three eventually dropped from their ropes to the floor and the two women dragged themselves in grief offstage while the man arched in agony center-stage until Death and darkness claimed him. The performance continued on through a couple more numbers, ending with a quietly uplifting vignette involving dancers with upraised hoops, but what stuck with me all the way home and throughout the night into this morning was the crucifixion. The utter grief of all the players in the scene was palpable, including the dancer of Death. It was Loss and Grief expressed visibly in the human body.

For the past week, I've been feeling as though somewhere behind the scenes, I'm crying my heart out. Nothing is consciously upsetting me, things are fine, I go on about my day-to-day life with no apparent sign of distress. But there's a dancer behind the scrim who is racked with sobs. I've been chalking it up to hormones and SAD (seasonal affective disorder) which, Prozac be damned, is hitting me pretty hard this first winter back in Gloomyland after 10 years in sunny Tucson. And that's probably all it is. But combine that with last night's performance and my spirit is feeling heavily burdened! I even had a dream last night that put into images my own personal Passion narrative where I had to kill my beloved dog Casey with my own hands while he lay by me, obedient even unto death. I sobbed aloud in my sleep, keening and wailing in the dream. It was so intense I couldn't quite drag myself completely out of it this morning and was less-than-present at church. I've been extra nice to Casey this afternoon, too!

Now the sun is shining in my eyes while I sit at the computer to write this, blinding me but I hope also helping the Sad One cheer up a bit. I had a rejuvenating visit earlier this week with a friend I've known since the 4th grade but had only seen for about 45 minutes total in the past 25 years. Jon and I had a 2-hour lunch in Poughkeepsie, NY, where he's spending the month of January helping care for his mother who struggles with Alzheimer's disease. So lunch was a bit intense in its own way, but mostly it was refreshing to be able to see and touch a longstanding, deeply rooted friend with whom I usually just communicate via e-mail and instant messaging. He took a picture of us with his little webcam--not very flattering of either one of us, but it's a treat when you think of it as two people who met as children who are now in their mid-40s. My life feels more persistent in the presence of someone who's known me for 37 years, like the sad one behind the scrim is the same as the happy one everyone sees. It was often hard to tell last night where one dancer's body ended and another's began. The lighting, the images, the music, the dancers, the audience--we were all part of the persistence of Passion. I forget to look at the world as a holistic place. I forget to see myself that way. When the sun comes back in the spring, it will probably be easier.