Category: vulnerability

courage · creativity · faith · fortitude · inspiration · responsibility · vulnerability · willingness

Movie Magic

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

In an effort to vary what’s become to me a rather one-note
blog lately, I’ve decided to lie.
I recently earned a decent wage from my spirituality &
creativity workshops, and am supplementing my income with sales of my art work.
Further, I am feeling so rejuvenated and supported by these avenues of income
and service, that I have enough energy and creativity left over to practice
with my new band – We play our first show this weekend.
There … did that work?
Well, in some circles, one might call that a “vision,” or
dream. A goal, per se. And in those circles, Visions are highly regarded as
lighthouses for us in the dark nights of the soul. So, I’ll take what I can
get. It may feel like pretend, like fantasy, as I cannot see how to get from A
to Z, but I don’t have to. Those are places that resonate with me to my core.
If we add in that I’m a member of a local theater company, and we just ended
our sold-out run, I think I’d hit nirvana.
I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this here, though I’ve used
this metaphor before.
It’s like in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Yep. That’s right. I’m going there.
When Indy, as we affectionately call him, is on his way through the cave to get to the Holy Grail, he comes to a ravine. There is no way
to cross this. As it appears, Indy stands on one side, clinging to a statue of
a Lion, and about 15 or 20 feet away, is the other side of the ravine, and the
path to the Grail.
There is no way. He cannot “jump” it, it’s egregiously deep
and sharp and craggy. And so, he recites the clue, as if the words somehow will
give him wings.
“A leap of faith from the lion’s mouth.” A leap of faith. This
is nuts. A leap of faith. But
there’s nothing down there. A leap of
faith. Fuck It.
He takes one step forward from the safety of the rock… and is held,
solid and firm. The camera pans out from his angle, and we see that hidden,
blended into the ravine walls, is a firm, stone bridge. Had he not stepped out
from where he was, he wouldn’t have the vision to see that he was firmly taken
care of the whole time. That there wasn’t a moment at which he was unsafe. He
just needed to take that first step out from perceived safety to perceived risk.
Metaphors like this keep me going.
I’m a visual person, and a child of the 80s, so throw in a “Goonies never say die,” and I’m ready to pack my rucksack, hitch up my courage, and step forward.
Despite my crawing about it here, it’s been suggested that I
let other people know about the state of my affairs, if only to take my
isolation out of it. Funnily, a woman whom I’m not fond of yesterday instructed
me to “Figure It Out.” I could have slapped her. (Funnier still, it’s already been strongly suggested that I choose another woman for these monthly meetings I have with my financial folks – which I haven’t done yet… point taken?)
But, it all reminds me of another phrase, “You can’t save
your face and your ass at the same time.”
I suppose belly-aching is different than sharing. Different
from being open. I’d like to submit that I’ve done a little of both, and what I
recognize is that I do have some blinders on. I do stand like Indy with a
limited view of things.
And if sharing with other folks my honest truth, without
being maudlin or Debbie Downer, can help me to take the next leap into the
unknown, then alright.
Camera Pans Right.
Lights up on microphone. 

change · courage · poetry · vulnerability

We have Lift-Off

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, on Wednesday, I called my girl friend from school, and
my first words on her voicemail were, “I need help.” She called me back immediately.
I asked her if I could just come over to work on my thesis
in her presence, just to have another human around as I was attempting
to compile and sort and order my poems into a cohesive whole.
I used to do this as a kid, have a parent just sit nearby –
I didn’t need their input or help, just needed a person there to help me feel
calm enough and supported enough to do the work. She said sure.
So I went over with snacks, like a good Jew, and actually,
she did begin to read it. Some are poems she’d seen before, some are
new. She really liked them. Moreover, one of my concerns is that because my
thesis is basically about me and my story, was it too “myopic,” too personal to
reach anyone else besides me? She said no – she said, in fact, reading my own
stuff helped her to think about her own – she said it was important, and that
she liked how it was written.
She had some good insights and points about how to make it a
cohesive whole, and although my innards scream, “REALLY?!?! YOU LIKE
IT???,” she did.
Yesterday, I went to a coffee shop with everything I’ve got
and began to edit some of them, and to look at the few edits my friend made. It
was interesting. She’d suggested that I consider, as I’m editing and working on
this, to remember that this isn’t “my” story, this is a work I’m giving to
others. That perhaps that could help to take some of the emotional charge and
swept-awayness out of it. Because it’s the same as most “selfish/self-less”
work – I get the benefits of sharing this and someone else gets the benefit
from hearing it.
I tried to keep some of that in mind yesterday. But mostly
what I was struck by was, indeed, how much my writing has changed over the last year. It was a year ago around
this time that my professor “accused” (she says still slightly burned) my
writing of being melodramatic and cliché.
So, I wrote in reaction to that comment, and began to write
in the most “non-emotional,” facts only way that I could.
Turns out – it’s good. My friend asked me this week if I
knew that my strength lay in minimalism – I said no, I had no idea! I had no
idea this writing, this style would come out of me or this master’s program.
But it has. And I like it. She said, she likes that it’s snarky. And indeed it
is. I like that that comes across. It’s quite tongue-in-cheek. Very “lay this out in front of you without any affect,” because the affect is
in how you are absorbing it, what it arises in you – When someone tells you something horrific in a
flat tone, you think serial killer. Well, it’s sort of something like that. The
non-emotionalism is allowing me to tell the story.
Perhaps, one day, if I choose to come back to this content,
I will flesh it out or approach it differently, but for now, this is the only
way I can let you know what happened without freaking out. And you don’t need to know how I felt. Your reaction is likely the same as mine – and that’s the
important part for this writing, or maybe any. To get the reader to feel
something.
So, as I sat, surrounded by other people, my safety blanket,
at the café yesterday and began to chop off whole parts of my earlier work, I began
to see that this body of work may actually work, and that perhaps my writing is
worth while. 

healing · intimacy · school · vulnerability

The Gaze.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, despite my declaration (or desire to adhere) to a cozy,
yummy 9 pm bedtime, there will of course be exceptions.

Like, every Tuesday night. My new poetry workshop ends at
9:15 on Tuesday nights, and my painting class begins at 9 am on Wednesday
mornings, so these are going to be quick turn around days, and I’ll have to
learn how to work within these parameters. Mainly, sleep enough within them!
Also, despite my saying yesterday, “Theater, I lay you down,” … my
poetry course is mainly, almost entirely focused on performance. Not just
poetry, but, performance art. I’m SO
freaking excited. Like I said, this teacher is a pretty big deal (Guillermo
Gomez Pena, look him up, you’ll get what I mean), and his methods are NOT your
typical poetry workshop, where everyone brings in a poem, reads it, murmurs
comments of assent or dissent and move on.
This, will be much different. And I can’t wait. Last night,
we did all kinds of spontaneous verbal exercises, then some pretty awkward and
intense physical interactions with each other, the other students. It was a
series of looking into another student’s eyes for minutes on end, with
different attendant variations – to explore the gaze and being fully present
with another human being. It, as you can imagine, could get a little awkward.
These were not the ice-breaker activities we did in summer camp! It was weird,
and telling, and opening, and closing, and awkward, and just interesting to
notice the experience.
Further, I had training for the artist’s modeling yesterday
for about 2 hours in the city, and the facilitator said that there are two
reasons that people get out of the business. 1) it’s too physically demanding.
(and after actually running through some 1 minute, 5 minute, and then a 20
minute pose, I assure you, I completely
agree – my muscles are going to be learning a thing or two about what works
with my anatomy… and blood flow – yes, my fingers are numb if I hold them
over my head for 5 minutes…!)
The 2nd reason he said people get out of the
business is because they can’t take “the gaze” anymore. That although, in
reality, the artist and students drawing the model are really only seeing what
they want to see, that mainly they’re interested in form and shadow and
contour, the model can begin to get hyper-sensitive to the gaze, and feel too
vulnerable underneath it.
He said to remember that what they’re seeing is only what
you’re giving them. That still, we’re in control, even if we’re nude, and eyes
open, we still, like most people walking around fully clothed all day, get the
chance to allow people to see only what we want them to see.
In one of the exercises last night, the 3rd woman
I “stared” at, well, I’ll tell you, she was pretty powerful. And after so much
outflow, which is my natural setting (“She’s gone from SUCK to BLOW!” … Spaceballs reference), it was interesting to feel that
actually, she was going to be the one with the outflow, and I could choose
whether to let her in or not. (And if you’re rolling your eyes right now, and
being like, “Molly, you are sooo Woo-woo hippie shit,” meh, c’est la vie.)
So, I did let her, and several minutes into the exercise, I actually began to cry. Not
on purpose! But because, I could feel that as exhausted and raw as I’ve felt over
the last month or so, I’ve still been outwardly focused.
Like with the 2nd girl, I could feel her pain and
loneliness, and she actually said afterward that she realized how little
physical contact she gets these days (we were holding hands as well as eye
contact in this one). And I was sending her all kinds of love and healing.
But with the 3rd girl, I tried to send it out,
but it was like, no buddy, This Bud’s for You. And she sent that healing, and
that love, and that gaze into me. And I felt myself seen, and held by it. And
just let go, into her power, and saw my own vulnerability and raw places by riding into myself through her gaze. I told her afterward, to explain why I’d cried, that my energy had been so
outwardly focused and I’ve felt so raw lately, that to let someone else in, to
allow the energy to go the other way ‘round was really powerful for me, and a
relief to let myself sit in it.
So, yeah. Although I’m not trolling the casting call website
at the moment or going on auditions, I’m pretty sure the HP is arranging for
me to engage in my body, my emotions, and my performance in a variety of new
ways. Even woo-woo hippie ones.
creativity · healing · modeling · recovery · school · vulnerability

"And Render the Visioner Whole."

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!!! Although I should also say that
today’s one and only class (go grad school) is Advanced Painting (go grad
school!). 🙂 
I’m terrifyingly thrilled to be going back to it. When, on the
last day of last semester, I said to my classmate (in response to her relief at
it being over) that I was looking forward to it beginning again, mainly because
my break was shaping up to look nothing at all like a break or rest or
refuel, and I knew that something would have to change about how I was shaping
it.
However, I took work anyway, got sick, and generally felt just as
soul weary yesterday as I imagined I was going to feel. Hence my gargantuan
relief at being back in school.
For me, this means being back to a purpose. That I have a
definition, a little name tag under my photo – “Student.” I have a label.
Not, “Part-time temporary employee.” Cuz, I’ll tell you, that feels like a
really crappy label. Unrooted. Directionless.
That said, I did run some numbers last night, and have
worked out how much I will still need to earn each month to make my ends meet,
and not be stark raving broke at the end of May, when school is done. To
provide myself a mini-cushion of time to … uh, do whatever it is I’ll be doing
at the end of May.
Although I now have my student loan money, sitting in my
bank account since yesterday with a HUGE pulsating red warning alarm – DO NOT
SPEND DO NOT SPEND. This money is spoken for. And, I will
need to not blow my wad on a car. (gross, when thought of literally. sorry –
but that is what car magazines are for, isn’t it?) 😛  A car may still be possible, but I will have to gather
some help on “thinking” it through.
I did not get a call back for the musical, and I am/was
pretty cool about it. I didn’t really think I would, but as I’ve said, it was
my job only to show up the best I could. Now, my best will hopefully continue
to improve as I do more of these, and practice in advance, but, for today, I
gave it my best shot, and I’m so glad I did.
Mostly because, I auditioned for a fucking musical – i.e. I sang in front of a panel of 4 people and an accompanist. One woman at the table briefly looked up at me as I walked into the room, and then proceeded to fiddle
on her mac for the remainder of the time I was in there – not looking up once.
Whatever, not my business. And, nor have I sat in a small room for 8 hours,
listening to hopefuls nail and fail an audition. I might fiddle too.
But, because I had had the experience of doing that audition
on Saturday, on Sunday, when I auditioned for the live modeling guild, guess
what? Not even NEARLY as nervous. Truly. Being stark naked in front of a panel
of 5 people, coed, was not nearly as terrifying to me as singing, fully clothed
in front of a panel of people. Both are forms of being naked, if you ask me. 
The audition was held in a really old building in SOMA, and the labels on the glass
panes of the doors looked like the old block print you see in private eye
movies of old. One of the doors said San Francisco Odd Fellows, which I found
rather amusing, but also had images of secret society cloaks.
I was almost last on the roster, so I got to spend a lot of time hanging
out, watching other people fold their bodies in half to stretch. It wasn’t all
“model” types, as in fashion/runway models. There were large, small, old,
young. A cross section of folks, but all with a certain … I wouldn’t say “ease”
or “whimsy,” as certainly not everyone there was someone you’d want to be stuck
in an elevator with – but for the most part, each had some strain of artisan in
them. I mean, you’re auditioning to be a model for art classes and painters and
sculptors. It’s a pretty cool thing.
I know from my painting class last year when we had live
models in what a difference it made, rather than painting from a photo. It was
also pretty weird, but it’s almost like you sort of accept that this is weird,
and ignore that folks in the room are naked. Like at the end of my audition,
after I’d posed in a series of postures, which was the sort of silent,
observing, professional portion, they then asked me some questions about my
application and why I wanted to do this, and I’m standing there, the only naked
person in the room, talking to them like I’m on a normal job interview,
answering about my resume. It was weird. Yes, you are naked, but yes, we are right
now ignoring that fact and pretending not to notice that we’re having a normal
conversation with you despite it. Lol. It was pretty weird, pretty fun. They
even asked if I could do some of my performance poetry while posing, and I did.
That was pretty cool.
Some of this for me is about taking ownership of my body.
Not of how it looks, but how I feel in
it. How connected am I to this thing that walks me around my whole life,
digests whatever crazy thing I feed it, and makes my fingernails grow? How
connected am I to this thing that has been abused by self and others? … is
really what it comes down to.
Much like “Owning Voice,” this is another place of
ownership. Of feeling like the master of my body, my fate, what happens to it,
how I engage with it, and how I allow others to engage with it. To be naked in
front of this panel is to claim my own body — to take responsibility and care for all that has happened to it, and all that will happen to it. This is the
vehicle I’ve been given, but it’s like a snail’s shell, it’s not just a house,
it’s also part of the being. And for a while, and for intermittently, I have
not been connected to this part of my being. Throwing it around hither and
thither.
So, this audition for me was one of healing. The musical one
was too, but in a different way. My friend talks about soul retrieval,
particularly in reference to certain meditations. And for me, these actions are
doing just that. I am retrieving parts of my soul which I have dismissed and
shattered from myself, and I am making myself whole again.
How’s that for a Wednesday morning? 

*P.S. I realized where I was quoting the title of this blog from. It’s a line from a draft of a poem I’d written last fall.

excerpt from “The Intelligence of Memory”

Like a fossil patient and low
Truth will wash up like integration
And render the visioner whole.