finding the dancing ground

myths in their Aliveness, writing from the heart's eye: a conversation with the white wolf

i’m Choosing to share this, as it comes— because this Is how it comes. a melding of ‘this’ world and ‘that’ world, a writing without thinking— my traversal on the NYC ferry towards a 5rhythms outdoor dance in a turned-off spiral fountain in battery park, the tip of manhattan; accompanied by the white wolf.

***

i felt the white wolf with me last night. And, i felt my anger.

this was supposed to be The Exploration of Ease.

this was supposed to be Me Enjoying My Life.

my father broods, alike, in the kingdom. maybe he’s underwater on the throne, in the old kingdom. maybe he’s curled up inside this white-sky sun, all haze.

i cannot escape him. or me.

the boat says Owls Head. the card i pulled this morning, in periwinkle hues, the owl flying towards me.

i, we, embark.

maybe. maybe. the white-sky sun says. this pen is going to run out of ink. and then what? you’ll be left with your thoughts and your body. then what?

i’m angry at her, but she stayed. it was Her fur i clung to, burrowed against, writhing in the night.

that wasn’t my boat.

i wait.

you’re not done with the dancing ground, the temple of the stranger.

you’re right, there’s not anymore you can analyze, make meaning of.

i throw my pen into a trash can filled with dog shit. i wonder what bird is making that mechanical sound.

you’re right. you’ve gone as far as you can go. and your Own hands make the talismans in clay, like gods, the gods we Are. you saw yourself, snaking out from the heartbreak, through the gate— all the colors were there but you were Unformed and Forming. ‘for who could ever learn to love a beast?’

i think of the stories that Exist, now— the references i have, the myths that move with me in these ungenerated states.

the little black snake tossed out the window, the shepherdess who faced him as his toothsome dragon evolution. ‘no one’s ever asked me that before.’

ask That question, the white wolf says with her eyes, that piercing blue.

the seagull sounds, its black-tipped beak flailing back and backwards to the sky, a sound that comes from the throat, cocked like a weapon, and Released.

am i still making meaning where there is none?

what will the name of this boat be?

i sit before her, spilling pages from my hands, the books i’ve written on My Condition. a spirit-medium once told me some years ago the god-powers-that-Be realized they ‘gave me too much.’ and my life was a teaching to them, A Teaching To Them, on what was possible. my mother asked on that phone call, questions like what happened to my daughter, where did my daughter go.

a new boat arrives, somehow still named Owls Head.

this time with a Different Destination.

what if god doesn’t know what to do with all the pain they’ve created? am i sounding like my mother now, because i hit the bottom of what was supposed to be Bottomless?

now, now, we embark.

i lean my head against the vibrating window. eyes edging the coastline that raised me. the books and pages spread out on the silver table as if we are explorers, as if we are Trying To Find A Way— but we aren’t, anymore.

what am i supposed to Do with all this? i have wanted to believe— the threads of Everything lead back, Somewhere.

i don’t know what i thought it was when i talked about peace, i said, not looking at her. if you are my future self, you know i get through this, don’t you? she said nothing.

don’t you—?! i found my fist slamming the silver table.

i watch the boat being raised into place, the subtle sheen of the white-sky sun outside.

what if i want you to lean into your Beast instead of trying to understand it?

i couldn’t tell which one of us said that, but i answered curtly— because people would probably DIE. myself included. if i am moody as i am, as lost, as silent, as sad, as rageful, as inconsistent with communication and follow-through, like i used to be—

but you are Not who you used to be, she offered, at first with utter calm— then slamming her own paw on the table. she narrowed her eyes into slits, and she growled. you want to paint me as the Light one, the easeful one, the gentle one. but you really have No Idea who you are.

i didn’t understand the confusion of subjects but let her words hang, startled.

i didn’t leave you last night. did i? i don’t know how to make this journey easier for you— when it is actually one of the most difficult.

i clenched my jaw, hot tears edging my eyes. one of the boat personnel opened their arms wide, out there, on the front deck.

he closed and locked the door.

i turned away then back to her. her eyes pained yet filled with compassion.

i know, she said softly, how Hard this is for you.

don’t make me an enemy, too.

i pressed my palms to my eyelids, sharply— WHO EVEN IS the enemy, anymore?? i don’t want to be fighting something all the time, LEAST OF ALL myself. and i don’t— the boat slowed down, nearing dock on the opposite side of the river. i don’t want to PUSH MYSELF when i don’t FEEL like it.

do you think i am asking you to do that? she said.

laughter pealed into the air behind us.

i exhaled through my nostrils.

i don’t fucking know what you’re asking me, Honestly. my eyes caught the purple-blue light reflecting in the tabletop.

she gathered the books and papers into a neat pile.

i want you to Dance.

a white-outlined bear face roared from the back of a passenger’s black hoodie.

dance for Everything.

dance when you think you can’t.

it may not always be like this— but it’s like this Now.

my father’s mouth released a stream of bubbles from his underwater throne. whale song in the distance, in the background, which was Everywhere.

going as far as you can go into the opposite direction doesn’t mean suddenly living a life of beauty and ease.

a boat named Connector headed back across the river, to the other side.

it doesn’t mean— only the simple things. my secret heart panged for the dinner he and i shared the other night. (though i couldn’t fully see him in the Legend— maybe because he was from the original world—?)

passengers embark. i watched the roaring bear-face leave.

i couldn’t keep track of whether she was still talking to me or not. i exhaled audibly—

… but the thing you will Re-Member is Re-Membering yourself, her sentence completed; missing chunks like papyri scrolls glaring, but i didn’t— couldn’t— care.

she leaned forward. i averted my eyes to more people walking across the little steel bridge, to board.

you’ve come all this way, she said— i’m not here to soften this for you.

i know there is anger in you for the way we talk in riddles, the way we see without saying.

the boat skipped on small waves, crisscrossing the coasts again.

yeah, it definitely fucking SUCKS, i spat, sarcastically.

her fangs peeked from a small smile.

so you’re still Alive.

debatable, i scoffed— my eyes catching the massive greenpoint wall graffiti of a reclining little girl, i’ve long identified as my daughter, fleur.

she’s in here, too, you know, the white wolf offered steadily.

she, too— was tangled, born from, All of This.

electric eels swam through my father’s heart-space, underwater. glowing. we sailed past the pier i danced on one year ago, new years day. the coastline, this coastline. all these places along the river that i knew— i knew— loved me.

why do you let the land love you in a way you don’t let people love you?

the inquiry was offered softly but landed pointedly.

a log or a metal or concrete pipe bobbed in the green-gray waters.

more memories of places my feet, my heart, had reached. Listening. Searching.

because i feel like i’ve been on my best behavior, i blurted. i’m Reformed, i have friends, i communicate my descents, i get back to people— I EXPLAIN. I EXPLAIN. a bird landed on a wave-crest for a moment then alighted.

the white-sky sun in a haze.

the blurred focus of a searchlight-eye, directed at me.

are you trying to act something out? she asked me.

i struggled. we docked again.

there was a small british airways airplane and a huge boat that read NorthStar.

i’m trying to prove to myself that no one will love me for who i Actually am. when i am not trying to explain and communicate. when i am a mixed-up-colors larval primordial mess. when i can’t speak. when there’s no end in sight or impending glorious transformation, Because This Is Just Me.

i saw the white wolf scanning for edges; how far to push, how many questions to propose.

what would happen— i turned my eyes to hers— if you lived into that question, and let your life answer you?

i saw all the other docked boats in a line, their names mostly too blurry to read at this distance.

we were Almost There.

last time i was here— i began. you were going to see her, the white wolf finished. you were saying Yes to a thing you couldn’t, didn’t, understand.

a mother rocked and bounced a baby in the far corner of the boat.

your beloved is going to her son’s birthday party today. the son left behind. the son who will one day, learn to span worlds. we sharply turned under the blue of the manhattan bridge.

or not.

i caught her eyes.

who’s to say?

would i have survived if i hadn’t met you both? i asked, point-blank, thinking of my two wolves. one black, one white.

there are not enough futures for that question, woman.

the tears came again to my eyes.

the wolves would always usually call me child.

the white wolf nodded.

we’re Here. for your revisiting.

the orange staten island ferry slowly moving to its own destination.

thank you, i said, stumbling over any other words.

her eyes held mine. Full. True.

so we embark.

***

some scenes, below, from what came After.

it’s so precious, too precious, to describe— but i’ll say Here that after my travails in the labyrinth over the last month, à la sophie strand’s writings about the minotaur as a dancer and the labyrinth as a pattern of dance, a dancing ground, instead of a death-trap maze you can get lost forever in … the unexpected mythic Gift it was to find myself physically dancing today on a spiral with a beautiful group— nearby where the battery park (actual) labyrinth i had planned to visit, was closed— all of us drops in the Water of Life, the snake-woven auryn-fountain at the end of [the book version of] the neverending story. feeling and Seeing in my heart’s eye the presence of the white wolf holding steady my gaze in the center, amongst all the dancers, swirling. the minotaur dancing with me in Intensity, low to the ground. me in the center, slamming the axe down, filling the place with Light. Dance Is A Mythic Container. perhaps i haven’t fully Perceived that until now. i felt bianca, too, in the center, with the white wolf— the last time i was down at that end of the city, i was going to see her in the hospital, i was going to her wake. // i am still understanding the Portal that dance is— how Affected i am, Physically— by giving So Much. a hawk came and landed, watching us, After. i crouched low to the ground and found my first white snowdrops underneath branches of a leafless tree. // i was brought to tears by a ‘real life’ vision of what i felt was my Future Self, in the form of an elder fellow dancer— a self that could Live Past All Of This— her short silver haircut, her new balance sneakers, and her rainbow scarf/sash, just like my beloved coyote— dancing in the plaza on the edge in danny’s story… That’s All, for now. for Now.

last foto: the aforementioned ‘snaking out from the heartbreak […] all the colors were there but you were Unformed and Forming’ from my first time playing with clay in an undetermined amount of years. first foto: the white wolf half of the ‘two wolves’ mask custom made for me in 2020 by the incredible curious fair.

interestingly, my first posts on this substack in 2022 were about dancing, including this one:

‘and how appropriate— to finally understand what dancers do.

that to truly dance your heart must be cracked wide open. dancing inside, through, for, and despite the wounding.

devotional. both for the sheer joy of it all— and the depth of the grief.’