the LINEAGE of MOTHER

In this lifetime I have received greatly. And I’ve given a great deal too. And somewhere within this great exchange I got lost. Am I giving or receiving, shape or shaper, teacher or apprentice, mother or mothered. And I found myself alive in this great exchange.

I am Dodie Sobretodo. Proud mother of Sheppard Marcus Sobretodo Leslie. The rebellious & grateful daughter or Editha Sobretodo. The dancing, smiling granddaughter or Juliana Dumayas. Daughter of HERE. Mothered by many. Mother to many. Daughter to the infinite. And proud and grateful to be part of this great lineage.

The Business of Hugging

This morning I was at the daycare dropping off my son. As I sat with him, over breakfast I witnessed something so incredibly touching. There were two separate children in tears. And I watched as the daycare staff scooped these children up into a tight embrace. How these children yielded to the support. How they wrapped their arms around these trusted adults. How these adults offered love and support and embrace and space to cry. The sight of this nearly brought me to tears.

It struck me how fortunate it is that there are places and people that are in the business of embracing the child. That I can drop my son off at his daycare and know that I can trust that he will be scooped and up and held by the staff there as needed. How their willingness to hold my son, holds me in my ability to walk out the door of the daycare day after day. So that my body can soften and relax into the work I need to do. So that my son, can soften into the life he’s meant to live and relax into the work he needs to do. That as he grows older the remembrance of these hugs may allow him to hold and receive the cries of another.  And allow him to be soft and cry and be held in the arms of the another as needed.  That the remembrance of these hugs will allow him to hold and receive the immensity of his own potential.

I hold space for the potential of more and more moments like these in this world. Moments where we can soften around one another.  Moments where we can allow ourselves to be held. Moments where we can do the holding.  Moments that offer sanctuary for the cries of the soft body.  Where we can relax and find the ground to rise up and do the work we are all meant to be doing. There is such potency for our humanity in moments like these and I speak for them because they are precious and worth paying attention to.

Reacting to Objects: Mindfulness, Tech and Emotion

I think that this practice of taking body awareness of the yoga mat and dance studios is really where it’s at. The integration of body awareness to the real world and our everyday activities is where we get real traction with these practice. Everything becomes this portal in to more meaningfully lead life. Thank you for sharing your embodied experience.

Museum in a Bottle

There’s been a lot of discussion about mindful looking and unplugging in museums of late. By pure coincidence, I’ve been thinking about looking at objects while traveling over the last 2 months, developing an understanding of how mindfulness and technology work together for me to connect emotionally with museum objects.

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Soul Motion Sundays

9:30 am – 10:45 am
Sunday Feb 22, March 1, 8, April 8
(more dates to follow)
Arts Court, 2 Daly Avenue
$15

Step onto the dance floor for Soul Motion Sundays. In this early morning sanctuary we come back to knowing ourselves simply, as bodies moving through space and time. We will attune, attend, listen, and stay curious as we move in relationship with others.

Soul Motion is an inquiry based practice in the basic principles of movement.  Through this simple portal in, we map the terrain of our potential as one and one of a greater whole.

Every body is welcome. No co-ordination or dance experience necessary. As we build our capacity to attend to the moment, this simple yet transformative movement discipline builds our capacity for everyday service and leadership on and off the dance floor.

The class is hosted by Dodie Sobretodo who is committed to the service of humanity. As such she holds the broadest and deepest possible space for all and for one to shine. She sees all things she does as a portal into a more practiced and informed life. Some recent practices include single mothering, coaching, Somatics, writing, holding hands, silliness, stillness, and fucking up every now and again.

For more information please contact Dodie at (613) 290-3250 or email at dodie.sobretodo@mac.com or visit her blog at dodiesobretodo.wordpress.com.

For more information about Soul Motion please check out http://soulmotion.com.

Divorce Papers. Served.

Divorce papers. Served. What I thought was mine turns out really isn’t. Who I thought I was, dissipated that one night last year after dinner. Caesar salad, roasted chicken, and a 6 month old baby fast asleep upstairs.  A belly and life that felt most certainly full to me.  Then he walked out after dinner. Biked away with a duffel bag into the night,  and left me with no thing.  I wake up this morning warm in my bed with no thing.  And I am free and clear.  Wildly rich with the potency of all things that is born of no thing. I know this deep in my wise old bones.   And  yet in the knowing of this, I also wake up terrified.  Really really terrified.  Referencing to no thing ‘feels’  terrifying after spending a life referencing my life to this thing, that thing and the other thing.   I am terrified yet I am content.  I empty yet I am full.  I am no thing and I am everything all at once.

Dear universe.  I am a lucky woman. I know this. With deep gratitude for everything.  For the everything that finds me on any given day.

Dear friends.  I commit to you now. To this life of no thing. To the practice of emptying. Giving it all away.  So that I may wake up free and clear everyday to fall in in love with you over and over and over again with fresh eyes, and generosity.  This part is important so please stand as witness for me dear friends: I stake my life and calling on the simplicity of offering my empty hands to you for holding onto.  Hands held out plain to serve and to welcome and reach out for the same.  I stake my life and calling on the simplicity of holding out my empty arms to you in an embrace.  In the potential that lies in the sanctuary of truly being held and seen.

I can feel the coolness of the dirt under *these* feet and between *these* toes and the resiliency in *these* bones. The suppleness in *this* spine and the softness in *this* gaze and the gentleness in the rise and fall of *this* breathe. All of which form the foundation to extend *these* hands and *these* arms to you. In the no thing I offer you everything.  Over and over and over again.

Sunday’s at Lansdowne

For several years now I’ve been going to Lansdowne Park Farmer’s Market (temporarily moved to Brewers Park) on Sunday’s.   There’s something as sweet as honey about that place.  Family oriented. Good local healthy eats. An atmosphere of ease. People move a little slower. They smile and take the time to connect with one another.

I was there this past Sunday and was reflecting on my history with Lansdowne Market and how it tells and sweet meandering story.  I used to go there with my X husband and our dogs.  Some of my most cherished moments with my X are these simple and easy times we shared together. There’s a reason my blog is titled “Everyday Inspiration.” It’s because I adore the simplicity and comfort of the everyday experience. In looking back on my marriage it’s these simple times that I look back on most fondly and miss the most.  It’s when he shined as a husband and we shined as a couple.  These moments when no one was really looking and nothing really mattered.  We’d buy garlic, organic veggies, fresh farm eggs.  We’d get delicious wood fired pizza and enjoy it on the lawn under the trees and talk about how it reminded us of the best pizza we ever had in Naples and reminisce about our adventures in southern Italy.

One time two summers ago when I was very pregnant, I was at Lansdowne with my girlfriend M, and I looked longingly at where the musicians would set up for the kids. I turned to my friend M and said I have fantasies of sitting in the grass with my husband and son to be, and watching the musicians play.  Somehow that being a perfect picture of family for me.

And once again that same pregnant summer, I remember being there with my X and wearing a big puffy blue tutu. This woman at one of the vendor stands whom I saw frequently told me that she would notice my outfits from week to week. That she would tell her young girls about this woman who dared to wear a tutu to the market. Conveying that she wanted her girls to understand that growing older doesn’t mean giving up the child in us.

Then there was last summer. Newly separated from X,  I would go to the market with my son who at that time wasn’t even a year old.  I remember the first time I went to the market last summer with my son and my girlfriend M and felt inundated with scene after scene of happy couples with their newborn babies. The dad’s proudly toting the baby around in a carrier while the mom’s happily went about their shopping.   These dad’s, so in and engaged felt like a personal affront to me.  It felt impossible to reconcile the joy I’d felt coming to Landsdowne with X,  pregnant even,  with the fact that he had been unfaithful for much of that time. It felt utterly impossible to wrap my mind around the fact I was now a single mom.

I remember in that first visit, passing the musician’s area and saying to M,  “why did I think it was a “fantasy” to be enjoying the music with my X and my son?”  As if I was foreshadowing the fragility of my marriage and the separation to come.

Another time last summer,  I remember in particular seeing this one dad proudly holding his newborn baby in a carrier. Lovestruck he was.  This dad was not at all my type.  He was a farmer. A country guy.  Not someone I found physically attractive at all. But I remember turning to the friend I was with and saying, “I NEED that man.”  I needed a man that was that in love. And that engaged. And that devoted to his family and his child.

Then there was this past Sunday.   I biked to Lansdowne towing my son in a trailer along Colonel By. He fell asleep en route and woke up just as we were nearing the market and I told him of the excitement to come. Music, veggies, date squares, bipimbop (a yummy Korean dish sold there).   I got some bipibop,  and a date square and we headed to the musicians area. There was a most talented young guitar player there this time.  He playfully improvised his music and lyrics with inspiration he elicited from the children.  He’d say something like, “what’s your favourite animals.”  Then he’d ask, “what should we name these animals?” And then he would elicit suggestions for what kind of adventure could they go on.  Then he’d improvise the funnest quirkiest songs, peppering in inspiration from all around him.  One dad had snap peas which he shared with all the kids there. All us parents got inspired and left our kids with that one dad while we all picked up a box of these snap peas for ourselves. Then all us parents and children, we all snacked on snap peas (and bipimbop and date squares) and enjoyed the music, under the big blue sky.

My first mother’s day with S last year.  Improvising a new story of a mom in a tutu, and a charming newborn in a lilac jumper, and how love & devotion carried them to solid ground.

In looking back on this past Sunday I smile at the simple ease of that brilliant sunny day.  The everyday inspiration of it. I smile to myself in recalling the contrast of increasingly easeful moments like this past Sunday,  to the impossible pain and hardship of last summer.   Like the musician this past Sunday, I improvise this life of mine.  I take this woman Dodie, and this cute as a button young toddler S, and this silly dog Ruby.   And I ask myself, “what fun and quirky adventures can the three of us go on today?”  And I keep my eyes open and available for inspiration to find me.  And I watch as a semblance of family unfolds before me. It’s not the fantasy that I’d envisioned years ago, but like the story of the farmer guy I saw last year, my story is one full of love and engagement and devotion.  Unlike fantasy, this story is real and sturdy.   And like that mom who went home to tell her young daughters about me in my tutu,  I hold dear my sense of childlike wonder as I continue to improvise from moment to moment, the story of my life.

Soul Motion Teacher Training: The ABC’s of Stepping In

Here it is I stand. The passage begins here as I ready myself for the great step into Soul Motion Leadership Training. A few days from now I hop a flight to the west coast where I’ll join my teachers and fellow trainees in a year long journey of study in the most honest, alive, and vigorous practice I have come across. A conscious movement practice that’s caused my life to blow up before my eyes, dropped me to my knees, and stripped me bare to the soul. A practice that has pieced my life back together,  shown me my place in the bigger picture, and continually offers me promise that a life lead simply and honestly is more than enough.

One of things that stands out the most about the Soul Motion practice and sets it apart from others, is the the cherishing of the pause. The recognition that pausing offers us a place to rest, to recharge, to disappear, to meet ourselves with fresh eyes, and begin again. The pause offers a starting place from where we raise our gaze and allow ourselves to be amazed by the view. A place of belonging, that holds us patiently until the moment we’re ready to sink in, give weight, push off and step out. As I stand here in pause, I am reminded of Zuza’s teachings on the ABC’s of pause. The “deconstruction” of pause, I like to think of it as.  I want to cherish this moment. Linger, luxuriate, so I’ll deconstruct this pause and honour the significance of *this* moment

A is for Assemble As I assess where I am in time and space I want to remember those teachers whose shoulders I stand on. Those who offer me a foundation upon which I rest my feet. For Jovinna for introducing me to Soul Motion, broken open, and without question drawn in without knowing exactly why. Lying on the floor like snow angels listening to Rufus Wainwright singing Hallelujah. Remembering this moment as I receive the earth beneath me. Receiving the the pulse of the earth. Feeling that pulse enlivening my feet and allowing this pulse to reverberate up to my knees, my belly, my heart,my head and hands.

And to Zuza. Include the excluded she says and it literally changes everything. The hardest turn is the great turn inwards she says. Practice, practice, practice.  In this moment of pause I practice turning inwards and including myself.  I’ve not always been so welcoming of myself but today am ready to hold myself dear as I stand here in waiting.

And to my ex husband who financially supported me on this journey.  The dance ignited in me a longing to seek a simple life of truth and authenticity and be alive at whatever cost. My longing to walk this path and his need to take the completely opposing path lead us so irrevocably in opposite directions. This dance cost me my marriage and my life as I knew it. Dropped me to my knees and stripped me bare until there were no places to hide from myself or from the truth. Therein lies the gem to this tragedy and a most reliable foundation to rest my feet as I assemble myself in pause.  Resting in the naked truth of me.  That I am enough just as I am. That I belong … here … now.  That this belonging is my birthright and non negotiable.

And to Arjuna, the founder of Soul Motion. As I’ve reassembled my life after my separation so many of his teachings have whispered to me and formed the foundation upon which I’ve picked up and rebuilt the pieces of my life.  Slow down, slower, and slower yet,  pause, pause frequently, wait for inspiration to find you, nothing needs to happen. He holds the high watch, wishing more for us than we can possibly wish for ourselves.  I stand now strong and true in the perfect embrace of my own high watch.  Knowing with the greatest of certainty that there is no more noble or necessary calling than that of the high watch.

And to that little girl. At that festival. Who danced in the street and dared me to dance there too. And I took her up on it. Over and over and over again.  I am a street dancer thanks to that little girl. I pound the pavement.  I dance under the open sky. I feel now my bones dense and hard. Stacked up one upon another beginning with the foundation of the small bones of my feet. Bones imbued with the countless shapes and shifts, starts and stops of the street dance.

And to my grandmother Juliana. What I remember most of her is how she danced everywhere and anywhere. Her kind, generous heart and warm smile.  Somehow, her little girl never ever stopped dancing.  I’m certain something of her spirit lives in me now.  My little girl leans back slightly knowing that grandma has her back.

B is for Breath

Closing my eyes and allowing my inhale to draw me inwards. Feeling my breathe pass through the nose, passing the back of my throat, softening the jaw and flowing down my spine like a soft flowing river.  Feeling the breath, like water meandering through my body. Passing over and soothing my wounded yet resilient heart.

Breath finding it’s way to my belly, finding a dance with the butterflies that flutter there in anticipation of this training.

Breath spiralling through my hard working arms. Arms that held up the lion share of my marriage for 16 years. That did most all of the heavy lifting as a single mom raising my baby boy.  Arms that have had to humbly relearn to flex inwards,  hold and love myself.  Breath now finding these most honest, nurturing and courageous arms allowing them to finally, after all these years, relax.

C is for Circular Awareness

I slowly exhale and trace my breathe as it spirals outwards and fills the space all around me.  A prelude to the dance. Simultaneously, I feel space brushing up against my skin. After my separation one year ago I recognized a desperate need to cast a wider net around me. Capture a wider circle of awareness. So I said yes to Soul Motion teacher training and now look forward to meeting my fellow traininees and teachers. To a community alive with authenticity and inspiration. A community asking why, and saying yes, with curiosity and open eyes.

I open to the sides and the awareness of the support and encouragement of my local community. Dancers, family, friends, teachers. My dear son and best dance partner.  He is my shepherd.

Looking back, I see the first half of my life and know this moment marks the beginning of a brilliant second half.  No more shrinking my life to fit someone else’s scared little box. I look forward to the second half of my life. To begin again.  A life of more and more me. A dance that is grounded and real. Alive and dynamic.  Open and available. A dance full of love, grace, compassion and a potential that opens in all directions and KNOWS. NO. BOUNDS.

D is for Dissolve

With a long audible exhale I let go. Soften my knees, jaws, and eyes. Empty. Surrender.

E is for Engage

Shall I step forward with the right foot? With my strong arms?  With my aching heart?  Jump in with my whole self?Waiting.

My whole life.  Waiting.  To  *fully*  and  *wholly*  and  *honestly* engage.

Thursday May 8th 2014.  Madrona. The odyssey begins.

 

Why I Dance In the Street

I dance in the street because there is an unstoppable force that comes from the deepest depths within me that pushes me out my door and into the big world. When that force finds me, and takes hold of me, I am a hopeless slave to it’s urging.

I dance in the street because when that force finds me, it has no respect for my edges. My heart bursts open like the Grinch’s heart did on Christmas day. My skin can no longer contain my body. My house can no longer contain my dance. I become too big to be held in by these containers and I spill out onto the street because I simply have no choice.

I dance in the street because I long for more alive and more honest and more awkward. Because I want to see the real you, what you really long for. I want to know what really matters to you. Desperately. I want to see you and you and you come alive in the common streets. As if my own life depends on it. I hope that my gesture of awkwardness inspires something in you to be awkward with me.  Dance with me, pause with me, stay with me.  Eye to eye. Tell me something other than,”I’m doing fine thank you.” Because are you? Are you really so fine?

I dance in the street because I can’t do it alone.

I dance in the street because I have a longstanding and committed love affair with the earth. The grandest of dance floors. Not that we don’t have our moments, moments when I relentlessly test and resist her, but in the end, she has never let me down and I’m no fool. I know that any lover that devoted is worth my devotion in return.

I dance in the street because sometimes I’m an ungrateful lover and space just seems so damned hot and sexy. I get so damned aroused and shamelessly devour the space around me. I dance in the street because in these shameless moments, I’m like a helpless addict, drunk and intoxicated on space and no amount of it can ever satisfy my hunger.

I dance in the street because one day, not too long ago before the dance really found me, I saw this little girl dancing at a festival. I watched her in awe. I wanted to dance too but my mind conjured up reason after reason why adults don’t dance in the street. I dance in the street because I woke up one day and decided to listen to my body instead of my mind.

I dance in the street because the raw elements of nature make me feel so fucking alive. Because as a little girl, when it rained out I thought YES, THANK JESUS, and nothing could stop me from spilling out on the street and getting wet and cold and muddy. I dance in the rainy streets because I know that I’m not made of sugar or shit and no amount of rain can dissolve me and dancing in the rain delights and honours my little girl.

I dance in the street because I want to honour my little girl. Because I appreciate that she knows how to live a life of simple joy and fulfillment. Because honouring her keeps life colourful and infinitely more interesting. Because honouring her tells her that it’s safe and worthwhile to keep nudging at me. I honour her by dancing in the street because I never ever want her to stop nudging me.

I dance in the street for love. Because sometimes there are these magical moments when love brings everything together in a perfect orchestration. When I lovingly trust and yield and push off the earth. When I embrace and push off of space such that I feel like my arms are like wings and I can take flight. When I fall in love with you and you and you and feel my place in the flow of community. In the flow of something bigger, more mysterious and intelligent than I can ever know. When I fall in love with myself, wholly, simply and divinely. When I fall in love with myself just because and despite.

 

 

 

 

Don’t Sell Yourself Short – How Others Love Us Matters

I saw this posted on a friends page and I wanna take issue with it. Our loved ones, if they love us should be paying attention to how we want to be loved. Do I want to be hugged after a crappy day at work. Do I want chicken soup with quinoa when I have a cold. Do I want my feet rubbed after a long Sunday morning run.

I spent too long in a marriage telling myself that it’s OK that my ex-husband didn’t love me the way I wanted to be loved. That it was OK because I felt deep down that he did love me and simply had issues demonstrating this. I spent too long ignoring that my own longings were being sadly unmet. If your lover can’t be bothered to listen and honour the way that you want to be loved then that is worth paying attention to. And the chief question to be asking is, why is that OK? Why is this good enough for me?

How we love and are loved matters. We need to be paying attention to our own needs and longings and asking. We need to be paying attention to the longings and needs of our loved ones. Not that our needs need always be met or that we must always meet the needs of those we love. But certainly, the self reflection of our own needs, and the sharing of needs, the conversation of needs and how we love and want to be loved is worthy and necessary to good healthy relationship. So. How do you love and want to be loved? Don’t sell yourself short. What you long for and how you long for it matters.