NEVER MIND...JUST DANCE.

WHEN I TOOK MY FIRST BULERIAS CLASS, HERE IN SEVILLA, I did the typical Canadian thing and apologized to Ramon Martinez, my teacher, because my Spanish was poor. 'Lo siento,' I said, 'mi espanol no es muy bueno.' He smiled and replied to me in English, 'Never mind! Just dance!' He actually said a bit more than that, but this was the core of his advice. So now, 'Never mind, just...' has become my motto for every artistic endeavour I do. I think it's a good one.

Not sure what to do with your bulerias improvization? Never mind, just dance.
You flubbed that last llamada? Never mind, just keep going.
Where does this all end? Never mind. It's not about some far-off goal you may never reach. It's about the journey. Just go! Enjoy!

How many of us waste our time obsessing over small details or never allowing ourselves to make mistakes? I'm guilty of this in dance, which is why, for me, improvisation is so difficult. Ramon told me not to be afraid to fail, to make those mistakes. So flamenco is not just about understanding its physical technicality. It's also a battle with one's pride, never an easy thing to do. Furthermore, it's also about looking so confident that when you make a mistake, you hide it, as if to say, 'Oh, yes? I meant to do that.'

I find this motto so helpful. How about using, 'Never mind, just...(then fill in the blank with whatever your goal is at the moment)? For example:

Ticked off, because the short story you submitted wasn't accepted? Never mind, just write.
Not sure where to start that novel? Never mind, just start. Anywhere. You're going to edit the damn thing to death anyway.
Frustrated because that painting isn't working? Never mind, sometimes it's the mistake that makes the piece shine.

One of my fellow bulerias students is deaf. As Ramon sings, she watches his lips carefully, so she'll know what to do and when to do it. (Bulerias is tricky this way. There are places in the cante where you can do certain moves, and other places where you shouldn't. Thus, my confusion, especially when the cante, or singing, is constantly changing.) In spite of her handicap, she's been dancing with Ramon long enough that her improvization is amazing. She is, by far, one of his best students.

I have one more class with Ramon on Monday, and then I leave Seville for Canada. I've enjoyed my time here very much. I've learned a great deal, and I can't thank Ramon enough for that. He's changed how I see myself as a dancer. I am more confident, yes. Perhaps also confident enough not to worry so much about future mistakes. :-)

Will I return to Seville next year? I can't say. But I can say this: 'Never mind. Just dance.'
(Thank you, Ramon.)

- Susan.

IS IT LUCK, OR SOMETHING MORE?

La Metropol Parasol or 'Las Setas'

THE PICTURE ON THE LEFT IS OF SEVILLA'S METROPOL PARASOL, or as it's colloquially known, Las Setas (the Mushrooms). Mostly made of reinforced birch wood, it swoops over the Almirante Apodaca, a major street which I walk along nearly every day. Whenever I do, I'm reminded of how incredibly lucky I am to be here in Seville, studying flamenco with a world class instructor and enjoying the city itself.

I am lucky. But is luck all there is to it?

I debated posting this post. Nearly talked myself out of it, but I'm going to anyway, because the point of writing blog posts is to offer something of interest to your readers, and maybe even some help. I'm going to tell you what I think, and depending on who you are and what your experiences have been, you'll either agree with me, allow for the possibility, or dismiss what I say because it's too 'woo woo'. I read some stats recently, about belief. Those of you who agree with me will fall into the minority, around 25 percent. 50 percent of you will say the jury's still out on whether the world of spirit exists, and the rest will negate what I say altogether. 

Am I lucky, or is it something more?  

I never expected to be here. I never expected my love for flamenco or writing to bring me the opportunities and success they have. I never thought Mike, my dear husband, would support me in either of these passions to the extent he has, and I must certainly take that into consideration. But I also feel there is a spiritual connection to the success I've enjoyed and continue to enjoy. My life has been one surprise after the other. I never expected any of these good things to happen.

That said, I did ask for them. I asked for spiritual help with both my writing career and my dance. And I've received help in spades. 

Who has helped me? Well, that is the question. I think we go on existing after we die. I think death is a transition to a bigger reality than what we know now, a bigger, broader experience. I also think once we pass, we can help those of us who are still in physical form.

I'll tell you a funny story. It's funny because it could be my imagination, and I'll allow for that. Years ago, when I was just starting to dance and struggling with it (but then, flamenco is always a struggle, because you're always reaching for the next level), I asked Antonio Gades to help me grow. Antonio Gades, one of the top maestros in the flamenco world and known internationally. He had passed away a few years earlier, in July, 2004. I was having a small hissy-fit over my lack of ability as a dancer, frustrated because it wasn't happening quickly enough, so I looked up into the air and hailed him like you might yell at an actor from the audience: I really want to dance, Antonio! I need to! I love it so much! Can you help me? (I smile as I write this. I wasn't completely serious when I put the question to him. I was feeling very passionate and emotional and upset about the whole thing). As soon as I finished my heart-felt plea to Antonio, an answer popped into my head. It was this: Do you practice?

I was completely taken aback. I hadn't been practising. Not really, other than mucking about for an hour or two before a student show, and certainly not on a daily basis. What I 'heard' was  exactly what I needed to do. 

I still don't know for certain if this was a real response or my imagination working overtime. I've decided it was real. I felt a bit silly that I should bother such a great maestro, when the answer to my desire was so patently obvious. (And this is why I still like to refer to him as Saint Antonio. Because maybe he is.)

Anyway, all I'm saying is, if you have any faith in the world of spirit at all, and you're in earnest over something you want, or want to do, maybe ask for help. See what happens. You just might get what you need. The luck you reap may be more than you know

Until next time, olé!

- Susan.  

MAKING THE EFFORT vs. JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

A FEW DAYS BEFORE CANADIAN THANKSGIVING, I finally went to the cemetery where my parents are buried. My dad died in 1983 from a heart attack. He was only 56. My mom died two years ago, aged 85, after battling lung cancer. She had purchased their burial plot after my father passed. Whenever I visited his grave with her, it was strange to see how accommodated she was to knowing where she would one day be interred. In many ways, Mom was a practical sort. In other ways, not so much.

I had been planning to lay silk flowers at their grave for some time and had put it off. Every November, the cemetery removes all the grave flowers, so snow-removal is easier. I'd been feeling grumpy about visiting. I'd been busy all summer. This was yet another chore. My mother always took leaving flowers for my father quite seriously. It already being October, the flowers would be removed in November unless I rescued them first. I had missed retrieving them the year before, so their grave was bare. The cemetery was also a bit of a drive - 40 minutes to get there. It wasn't like jumping into the car to buy groceries. Instead, I had to plan things - buy new flowers, pick a day that worked in my schedule, then carve out precious time to drive there.

Part of my irritation was in doing what was expected of me. It was as if my parents were watching me from afar and expecting me to leave flowers at their grave because that's what a dutiful daughter did. It would be a sign of my devotion to them, a proof. I've never liked being forced into proving anything, or being put into a societal box. But I was also feeling a bit guilty for not going. When I finally did go, I discovered the effort wasn't so much for my parents, as it was for me.

I learned something about effort, about grieving, and about life that day. To make the physical effort to visit a grave is something that's much more potent than simply thinking about loved ones who have died. Making an effort becomes a kind of ritual, a ceremony. In remembering and celebrating who my parents were, I transformed an ordinary moment into something more poignant and deep. My effort became a sacrament, an expression of the love I have for them, and the love they have for me. If I hadn't gone to their grave, I wouldn't have had that experience. Yes, there were tears. I will go again to retrieve their flowers before the cemetery removes them.

In the wider scheme of things, the idea of 'effort vs. just thinking about it', is applicable to any aspect our lives. Thoughts have power, but it's in the doing that the magic occurs.

- Susan.

A LITTLE EPIPHANY....

I HAVEN'T BEEN DOING A LOT OF WRITING LATELY, but I have been thinking about writing and about creative endeavours in general. I'm the kind of person who isn't obsessed with just one thing - as much as I love writing, I need to take a break from it now and then. I also love to sing and dance flamenco. I worry that because writing isn't my sole passion, I may not get as far along with it as I should. Ditto with my singing and dancing. For the most part, my flip-flopping between passions doesn't bother me too much.

On the other hand, there have been times when it does.

If you're like me, there are times when other people's successes give you an uncomfortable twinge, a feeling like you need to do more, focus more. I hate to use the word 'envy' but yes, if I'm being honest, I can't deny there have been times when I've envied other people's ability and success. Luckily, those disturbing moments never last too long, and if anything, they push me to work harder. Which is good, because working harder means better discipline and focus. Which means greater results.

But that aside, I had a rather nice epiphany the other day. It made me feel so much better. Instead of feeling envious or as if I'm not working hard enough, it's even better when I can feel joyful about a friend's success.

To explain how I got to this lovely point, let me first explain how I think life works. I believe we come to this earth, have come to this earth many times over, to learn and to succeed at whatever we need and want to learn. There are many types of lessons - how to succeed in any given area is only one of them, but so is learning to relax, to get over oneself, and to delight in other people's accomplishments. There's no reason not to celebrate a colleague's success, because sooner or later, this life or the next (or the next) our journey will also provide us with peak moments.This is inevitable. We're all heading towards a universal perfection. Therefore, there's no need to envy anyone, but to be happy for them when they reach a high point in their evolution.

And if that isn't the way life works, then I'd rather be happy for others, instead of suffering those awkward moments of lack and self-doubt.

(Maybe this was a lesson I've finally learned? I'd like to think so.)

- Susan.