I Release You From Perfection

by Shay Moore
I release you from perfection.
I give you permission to screw up.
A lot.
I invite you take risks that don't always pan out.
I encourage you to laugh at your mistakes,
but take them seriously enough to correct them.
I request you think positive thoughts about yourself,
about your dance,
about your fellow dancers.
I abolish your excuses
so you can realize your capability.
I wish for you to get to know your roots,
which are my roots, too.
I ask that you respect those roots.
I expect you to expect more from yourself.
I hope for you to find your bliss,
and recognize your own beauty
on all its many levels,
in all its many forms.
I release you from perfection.
I applaud each and every misstep
that brings you closer to your Best.

I Am A Dancer

I am a dancer.

I twirl, leap, and spin.

I jump, pirouette, and tap.

I am a dancer.

I feel pain and fear.

I feel defeat and failure.

Yet, I keep going.

I smile, I practice, I perform.

I have grace and beauty.

I do not dance because I am happy,

I am happy because I dance.

I hear the applause.

I perform and do my best.

Sometimes I fail.

I don't give up.

For I am a dancer.

I am brave and strong.

I dance not for fame and glory.

But for how I feel inside.

I am happiness, joy, love, and excitement.

Strife, talent, joy.

Determination and beauty.

I am a dancer.

- Author unknown

I Praise the Dance

I praise the dance,

for it frees people from the heaviness of matter

and binds the isolated to community.

I praise the dance, which demands everything:

health and a clear spirit and a buoyant soul.

Dance is a transformation of space, of time, of people,

who are in constant danger of becoming all brain,

will, or feeling.

Dancing demands a whole person,

one who is firmly anchored in the center of his life,

who is not obsessed by lust for people and things

and the demon of isolation in his own ego.

Dancing demands a freed person,

one who vibrates with the equipoise of all his powers.

I praise the dance.

O man, learn to dance,

or else the angels in heaven will not know

what to do with you.

- Saint Augustine

Tired of Speaking Sweetly - The Poetry of Hafiz

One year for our anniversary, my sweet husband bought me a book of poetry by Hafiz, entitled The Gift.  He promised to read to me from it regularly; and he did throughout that year, and sometimes I would read to him in return. This is one I read to him those years ago, and its power is still with me today. I wanted to share it with you!

------------------------------------------
Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.

The Guest House

Many thanks to Paulette for sharing this wisdom in her most recent newsletter.

The Guest House


This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-- Jelaluddin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks

Neruda...

Mom Moore has always loved Neruda, and instilled a love of it in her son, who found the sonnet below today. He hopes to include it in her memorial somehow, and I think it is simply perfect.

Rest in the care of Your Father's arms, Mom. We love you so dearly. Thank you for the inspiring example of selfless love and giving you demonstrated in every aspect of your life in the time I have known you. You gave more of yourself in your time on earth than many could muster in three lifetimes. You were truly a gift in this life, and will surely continue to be so in the life you now go to. Thank you for raising such an amazing son, who has become my best friend and true partner in life. Your unconditional love lives on in his sweet heart, and I feel so honored to be a part of your family.

"When I die, I want your hands on my eyes:
I want the light and wheat of your beloved hands
To pass their freshness over me once more:
I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.


I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep,
I want your ears still to hear the wind, I want you
to sniff the sea's aroma that we loved together,
to continue to walk on the sand we walked on.


I want what I love to continue to live,
And you whom I love and sang above everything else
To continue to flourish, full flowered:


So that you can reach everything my love directs you to,
So that my shadow can travel along in your hair,
So that everything can learn the reason for my song!"

Sonnet 89
Pablo Neruda