A Naked Heart

Filters have controlled people's behavior for so long and thoroughly, I have sensed a deep longing for people to be seen and heard wafting from the collective bones of us—our spirit—when we encounter an opportunity to bloom.

“If we walk far enough,” says Dorothy, “we will sometime come to someplace.”

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

What I noticed about the Introduction to Storytelling and Solo Performance class I recently co-produced with Jack Schultz of Green Shirt Studios, is that it mimicked the audience's reaction to Jack Schultz's solo performance I’m Falling in Love All the Time that same evening—a hunger to witness and speak from the heart.

As terrified as many of the students were in the solo class, they found ways to courageously share by assisting each other and letting themselves freely speak. When the solo performance ended and loved ones told of their experiences with those who had suffered from addiction, the thread weaving through Jack’s deeply personal story, the communal connection in the room was palpable. Compared to the communal disconnection often felt either in person or on social media, the transformative power of the type of engagement that occurred in both the storytelling class and the after-solo discussion could not be missed.

“He is my dog, Toto,” answered Dorothy. “Is he made of tin or stuffed?” asked the Lion. “Neither. He’s a…a…a…meat dog,” said the girl.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

I witnessed those who thought they'd never be able to tell a story in the class and people in the audience overcome entrenched public speaking shyness/anxiety to find their voices. And after doing what had been personally considered out of an individual's scope of practice, there came a collective, joyous spike in awakeness, awareness, alertness, and humanness that I'll never forget.

At the end of the evening, I checked in with Jack, as a primary component of his solo expression is revealing the grief he carries after losing his brother to a heroin overdose. In his performance, he shares this question “What do we do with the love for the people we’ve lost?” Walking up to Jack, he grinned without speaking. I was struck by how joyous he appeared after opening his heart to a room full of strangers.

“How do you feel?” I asked, though it seemed a redundant question.

“You have plenty of courage, I am sure,” answered Oz. “All you need is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.”

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Jack’s joy enveloped his entire body, I could feel him nearly clap with glee. “Great! It went well, it felt good out there, and I was able to stay present!”

“I was able to stay present.”

When Jack continued, he discussed what that meant—staying present while trotting a naked heart out into the jungle that is humanity.

“Lions, and tigers, and bears, ohmy.”

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Jack spoke of how he managed to be present, in his body while emotionally connecting with other people, not only during the performance, but also afterward during the open discussion and then with me when I asked how he felt. He offered compelling testimony of what it might be like to be real.

“When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

The Velveteen Rabbit

“Yeah, it’s hard having those feelings for my brother in front of people, but when I sense they get it and are following along with me…its freeing and a connection all at once. I feel more alive.”

My face must have looked dubious.

“I won’t say it’s easy. There have been times when I’ve performed this and dialed it in, the audience got the story and not the emotion. I couldn’t do it. And that’s okay. It’s part of me learning how to be present.”

Later by email, our conversation moved onto how Jack’s theatrical background and study of the Meisner Approach may be the grounding wire that’s helping him do this kind of performance work and stay present in front of an audience. I’m considering signing up for a Meisner Intensive Class that begins next weekend (12/7/19). The shrieking sound of my inner-freak-out is likely echoing through this typeface.

Since the class and performance, Jack’s vibrant, joyous face after spilling his guts in public has stirred my cup of tea.

“He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these.”

The Velveteen Rabbit

Scary. Unsettling. Stripping the heart down to a naked spirit and exposing it to the jungle.

That’ll likely hurt.

My cup of tea is clearly in motion. I’ll try not to splash the audience—overmuch.

My Name Is Taboo.

The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those who speak it. 
George Orwell

A couple of years ago I got a tattoo. Not one of those tiny hummingbirds on my upper thigh and only seen by my husband and dermatologist. I'm painted with a big splash of feathers across my upper chest that is impossible to ignore—though some do try.

I see those folks, their eyes scuttling from my tattoo back up to my eyes in an up-down motion, furtive and at times ashamed, as though they are looking deep in my undie drawer and have found a red lacy pair inscribed with "spicy". I find these people incredibly interesting. All that horrified-at-themselves and inability-not-to-look agony. It comes to me as self-shaming within a crowd of one.

OMG is that a tattoo?

Who would get such a big tattoo?

Does she think that looks good?

Uh-oh, does she know I'm silently judging her?

Shit. That makes me bad or something, right?

STOP looking at the tattoo.

Can't.

Shit. I am that bad person.

There are others who can't keep from judging out loud, their in-side voices escaping the lips to run amok in the vegetable aisle.

"That's a big tattoo you've got there."

At my "oh-here-we-go" nod, they continue.

"Why'd you get it?"

The face of the person typically scrunches up as though an overripe melon has gone bad and the stink has invaded their airspace. I occasionally feel compelled to toy with this appalled-state they've landed in with one of several snarky replies.

"Why'd I get what?" while dead-stare-daring them in the eyeballs to gesture at my flock of feathers or in a super-mean mood I state with purposeful offhandedness "Was drunk on tequila and held down by witches." or meaner still and naked-to-the-bone "It was something I promised myself to do if I survived my childhood."

The latter, closer to the truth than I want to fully explain in the grocery store, is designed to get the person to skedaddle to the frozen section with freshly "oh-god-why-did-I-ask" slapped cheeks.

Telling the truth is a beautiful act, even if the truth itself is ugly.
Glen Duncan

I've had a few people manage to throttle on past my snark, their in-side voices so disconnected from what is being said that they obtusely toss additional layers of tar, feathers, and tomatoes.

"In my family, we don't believe in tattoos." or "Aren't you afraid of what it will look like when you're old-ER?" or my personal fave "Ever wish you could go back in time and change your mind?"

My name is Taboo.

I have a long list of things people judge me on, my tattoos only one of them.

The way I parent and my beliefs, how deep the leaves get in my yard before I do something about them, the Buddhas without corresponding Jesuses in my office, the color(s) of my hair, size of my ass, and even the curious cluster of bumps on my forehead (Can't you have them removed? No, I can't). There's the incorrigible behavior of my dogs, vibrant hues of my kitchen, "how dare I gleefully wear yoga pants outside of yoga class," and horror-upon-horrors, that I publically admit to seeing a therapist for more than a simple brush-out.

But the most contentious and likely items to elicit discomfited rage that may eventually lead to ostracization are my resistance to forgive abusers without receiving an "I'm sorry," not forcing myself to remain in contact with intolerant family members, and choosing not to shut up about or nice up the realities of living in a world that traumatizes instead of heals.

This lengthy list of why-would-you-do-it-that-ways and taboos doesn't contain the events I haven't yet found the words to speak about. These are the terribly-terribles most people don't want to witness—the kind of damage done in secret by abusers who use silence to get away with it.

Among other, more salacious definers, I've been labeled blabber-mouth, snitch, tattle-tale, liar, bitch, "it," and drama queen. Family members, and in other subversive ways, society, have cordoned me off for choosing not to hide what harm was done to me and sharing the odious, not-pretty, and disturbing lengths it is taking me to recover—if recovery is even possible.

We are living in a time of tipping points.

Our planet is tipping us off it, using ever more violent and uncontrollable means to get us to coexist in a healthy manner. Governments have been tipping into authoritarianism to contain people thinking outside the lines that were drawn in ever-evolving sand. Hatred has tipped the scales of justice and humanity, bringing civil societies to the brink of chaos.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.
William Shakespeare

Every tipping point has a counter-measure, something that could pull humanity back from free-fall, a life-line that might ground us for a sustainable future. The truth is, humans are not only the good parts. We each have very bad parts; traits and experiences that are terribly-terrible. I'm of the opinion our free-fall counter-measure is to learn how to face who we are by no longer dictating what is talked about, to wholly witness our taboos—the bad and the ugly, the scary and the horrendous, along with the hidden and the dangerous aspects of this life for the purpose of our healing.

When symptoms of pain and illness in a body are ignored or covered over, it often ends tragically. Our global tattoos are no longer going to sit quietly beneath clothing and leave us to nice-up the out-side while the in-side shushes and rots.

Truth will ultimately prevail where there is pains to bring it to light.
George Washington

It is time to open-up, listen-up, and heal-up.