Tag: women
Maiden, Mother, Biker
It’s still chilly in the mountains, but spring has tiptoed into our hearts at this most feminine time of year… the delicate unfolding of leaf, the first flowering, the bird song. The Maiden.
Meanwhile, on this Mothers Day weekend, I find myself fuming about how much space men take up. The motorcycles without mufflers. The gunshot. The music blaring from the truck. Toplessness! Callous conversation!
How much space do men need?
Does it not occur to them to share?
“I’ve downloaded the Mueller Report,” one announces from the table next to mine. I look up from my book. He and his friends are dressed in leather, sipping coffees.
“He’s a grown child,” the man continues, referencing #45. “He’s never had to work with anyone. It’s always been his way.”
“And he’s used to getting it any way he can,” I might have added, but they weren’t talking to me.
The topic shifted to the Vermont countryside and the route they might or might not take next. “100 or 8,” one suggested.
“It’s a pretty area,” the woman agreed, “but I get to do more sightseeing then you two do.”
“Relaxed attention,” the other man said.
“It’s true,” said the one with the Mueller Report. “I can’t look around much during the week either when I’m driving the truck.”
“It’s the same for me and the bus,” said the other man. “All those little kids on it.”
a mid-spring evening for women
with the Pink Full Moon
In Southern, Vermont
Monday, April 30th
6:00 to 8:00 pm
Marlboro, Vermont
(in between Brattleboro & Bennington)
Join a mid-spring evening with women to…
Elevate the human condition.
Retrieve lost aspects of self.
Steep in the poetry of your life.
Experience the chakras with music, movement & meditation.
Enjoy a stunningly disguised workout.
Rest, stretch & dance in a safe & welcoming circle of women.
Participate in simple, co-created ritual.
Discover the elegance of spontaneity & surrender.
Be yourself.
HAVE FUN!
Sink into 111 minutes of gently-guided flow from the earth to sky led by lifelong educator, yoga & yogadance instructor Kelly Salasin. Experience & skill irrelevant. If you can take a brisk walk and get up from and down to the floor, you’ve got this. Women of all ages welcome. (Youth of a certain age with advance permission.)
Experience the body’s energy centers—from grounding to flowing—from boundaries to open-heartedness—from playful expression and voiced truth to clear seeing—to silent knowing—shaped by an intuitively-crafted soundtrack, certain to move you–inside & out.
Come as you are. Tired. Weary. Anxious. Energized. Grieving. Inspired. Ready. Reluctant. Fit. Out of shape. Introverted. Extroverted. Hesistant.
Allow the energy of the gathering to rise up inside you as we organically weave an evening of re-lease, reintegration, and regeneration with music, movement & meditation.
Bring a small journal or notebook, a water bottle, and some kind of mat (or blanket), dress comfortably to move (layers work great), move barefoot (or with clean non-marking soles.) Optional: bring a something to symbolize new growth for the altar.
HOLD YOUR SPACE with the link below. (Add your name & email address to the payment along with one word or a short phrase about what brings you to the dance.)
Let Your Yoga Dance (LYYD) Instructor KELLY SALASIN has been leading dancing journeys (classes & retreats) through the chakras with women in Southern Vermont for over a decade. She is a yoga teacher, a regular assistant to leading presenters at Kripalu Yoga & Health Center, and the creator of Writing through the Chakras, an online journey for women around the world. She is also someone who still has trouble touching her toes and has spent most of the winter holed up in her home in the woods of Marlboro and so really welcomes this opportunity to gather and move among women.
The Outback at Marlboro Elementary (aka. the school gym) on Route 9 lends itself to the kind of playful expansion that is welcome in the 5th chakra, while the intimacy of the women’s candlelit circle creates a powerful container for warming, connecting & integrating. We benefit from the energetic imprint of children in the space and we leave the energy of women dancing behind to bless their space, particularly at May Day.
(Update: 3 spaces remain~ https://www.paypal.me/KellySalasin/33.33
Spring in Manhattan (& Marlboro)
I first met Connie in Chile at an international conference for the worldwide network of the Experiment in International Living. Geographically speaking, Connie and I were neighbors, but the lifestyles and topography of Manhattan and Marlboro were worlds apart–her island that never sleeps meets my mountain town and dirt roads without a traffic light in sight.
Santiago is where the conference took place. It was 2011. I was the Assistant to the Director of Federation EIL. Connie served as our United Nations representative. This immediately lent her my affection. (I’d had a thing for the UN since I was a kid.)
Connie didn’t make it to the conference the following year in Japan or to the one after that in Vermont, and I didn’t make it to Ireland, and neither of us was in New Zealand, but our friendship, seeded in Santiago, deepened into a seasonal rhythm that presenced itself each March around the annual Commission on the Status of Women (CSW.)
“Expect chaos,” Connie wrote, when I first inquired about how to navigate the event.
Thousands of NGO representatives–mostly women–from around the world convened each year at the United Nations; which I found so thrilling, that I kept returning. Each time Connie encouraged me and we shaped plans to get together.
That first year, we met up between meetings, and later in the week for lunch, and on the last evening, Connie invited all the representatives from our organization to her home in the Upper West. She cooked. We brought salads and desserts and wine.
This ritual of connection continued year after year. One March, Connie and I caught up for lunch at the American Wing at the MET. Another time at Pain Le Quotodien on 2nd Avenue; while last year, a bunch of us gathered back at her home for dinner after the day’s events. Connie cooked then too. We provided the accessories again. Everyone stayed late into the night.
In the kitchen, Connie told me that she hadn’t made it to any of the meetings; that she’d been at the doctor’s. She shook her head as if to say: Things don’t look so good. I hugged her more earnestly that night.
When I returned to New York a year later for the 60th Commission on the Status of Women, I saw Connie everywhere. In the park. At the MET. At Pain Le Quotodien. At the United Nations. At the Church Center across the street.
I’ve been home from the city for about a week, settling back into the rhythms of my dirt road, and now is about the time when she and I would exchange a volley of emails about the results of the Commission–where there was hope and where there was frustration–and Connie would invariably include a photo or two of spring in New York… a flowering tree perhaps, or a set of bulbs pushing through the ground in Central Park–to serve as an encouragement–to both of us–at the end of a long, cold winter.
This year, spring has come early to both Manhattan and Marlboro.
Look Connie… even in my backyard…
A former member of the US Committee for UNICEF, Connie Crosson served as the UN Representative for The Federation of the Experiment in International Living from 2008 until her death in 2015. Connie was a graduate of the School for International Training (SIT) at World Learning, a mother of an Experimenter to Germany, a host for many other Experimenters from around the world, and the director of a management training and consulting firm for nonprofit organizations.
country mouse, part V, communion
I arrived in the city engulfed by the enormity of the population here, feeling both crowded and alone, intruded upon and abandoned; but over the course of 7 days, I began to notice patterns beneath the surface of chaos…
In the way one woman’s thigh comfortably flanked mine in the subway car.
How we could each let our guard when other women were beside us.
The framed Maya Angelo poem on the wall of the subway car. The Courtesy Guidelines chiding “man sprawl.” The Sexual and Inappropriate Touch warnings.
The kind voice of the driver over the loud speaker, welcoming visitors, students, residents and indicating which stop we were approaching and which one was to come.
The sense of collective relief when a handful of passengers made it through the doors just before the train departed again.
How we all ignored the man with the atrocious cough, and the other one who attempted to speak to each of us as he stumbled through the car.
The pause of the elderly woman to thank me when I put out an arm to help her to her feet.
The circle of officers chatting on the platform.
The laughter and awe of a crowd circling a performance of dance at the station.
How quickly the Shuttle, the Downtown, the Uptown, the 6, the 1, became familiars.
The constant deluge of billboards on walls, and stairs, and subway cars advertising the latest play or upcoming television series that I desperately wanted to see simply to resolve the pressure.
How I rushed like the rest of them, even though I was in no hurry.
How I wished I was a smoker, not for nicotine, but for the reminder to breathe in and breathe out, breathe in and breathe out.
Stopping to help a foreigner purchase a subway ticket.
The searching smiles of other passerbys. The ecstatic traveler.
All those unplugged, and all those talking to themselves, with and without, wires.
Pointing the direction to Central Park.
The new baby at the cafe. The new baby on the subway car. The new baby in her father’s arms.
Lovers. School groups. Tour guides. Families.
Two different women who told me not to park there because if I didn’t get a ticket for the fire hydrant, I’d get a ticket for being on the wrong side.
The man on the stoop who told me that the sign about “No Standing” confused him too.
In this clashing culture of crowds and singularity, there was so much separation, yet there was also communion, and it was abiding and filled with the absence and presence of love.
(This is the last in a series of posts from a week in the city: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV.)
This Vermont Life 