This field is dedicated to the dreamers
There shall be many bedtime stories for all ages in the days to come. The story below is not really a bedtime story per se. It is a true dreamer’s story. Nobody can really tell a story in its holographic wholeness. That is why we love to hear good stories again and again, to allow our insights to see the unseen, and to hear the untold…
“Children of the Timeless Divine” was the first dance-theater piece I presented in the New York City. It was also the founding piece for my dance company — Ancient of Days Dance Theater.
I was just out of art school then, a foreign student who had a dream that was impossible to achieve according to any rational mind. Since I did not have too much rational mind, I did not know that was impossible. I just wanted to dance my soul’s knowingness, with the disciplines that had strengthened me my whole life. I knew that the messengers and the messages were one. I had to choose myself to be one of the One. Even in the toughest time we had great fun.
Acting like most fine dancers, I was taking classes, going to auditions, attending workshops by my favorite choreographers, and trying my best to get into some major dance companies… In the meantime, I came to realize that I was a total rebel who was impossible to tame. I refused to sell my finely disciplined dancer’s body to be a dancing machine. To me soulless dancing was vain. There was a secret knowingness hidden behind my humble, polite, nice dancer’s persona. I knew then I had danced for an eternity in different cultures, in different civilizations, and in different lifetimes and timelines. Oh---hush—hush--- You could not tell anyone things like this in those days. You knew who you were, that was enough to behold.
Very soon, the money was running out. Neither did I have a job, nor did I have anything to back me up… All I did was to keep on dreaming, and act accordingly in every given moment. There were those who thought they were my best friends, and would dutifully give me advice about how to survive. I appreciated their good intent. I have no interest in “survival”. To live has a different holographic reality than to survive.
No matter how many people wanted to l-o-v-e me, and how many people I wanted to l-o-v-e back, the real support I had in spirit was Mark who lived on the opposite coastline. I did not meet my other brilliant co-creators at that point in time. Rare birds are hard to find.
There were some tears, but I have already forgotten what they were about… All I remember is that one night, I was passing by a crystal shop around the corner of NYU. There was a note on the door that every Wed. there would be a group meditation. Wed.--- that was the next day. I had $5.00 in my pocket, just enough to pay the donation… Do you know that the homeless in the subbways told us that the best nation in the world was DO-NATION.
...We sat by ourselves for a while until a tall man with a shining forehead came to our sight. Calmly, he chose to sit next to me and began to guide the meditation. I was blissfully carefree again. I did not even remember that I just spent my last $5.00, in the world biggest city, far away from my birth land.
After the meditation, I asked that shining forehead
---Do you work here?
I said: “ Can I put down my phone number in case you need helpers.”
--Surely you can. He smiled. Woops--Did I just see some shining silver, gold, diamond like teeth? Or did I dream again?>
The next day I got the phone call to work there. Turned out that shining forehead and shining teeth was the owner — Mr. Runbenfeld. I did not realize then that this gentleman would be an angel of mine in the years to come.
That was a great time to transform any old-fashioned self-importance. I had to serve humbly no matter what identity I held for myself as the “REAL ME“. Tears were hidden when some wealthy women complained that they did not understand my English. I felt like a princess turned into a servant girl after the vanish of the kingdoms… Some dancers from my classes had already traveled with major companies. When they came back in town, they would visit me in the store, asking me if there was any news.
I just got my MFA degree few weeks ago… there I was, working on a job that did not give me any pride except growth, and silent cry. Then, there were people from my birth land showing off their status as so and so professors… I had to find a way to tell them how bad they truly smell. Why would I want to be a professor when I just grew out of the school? That was not my timeline. There were much deeper dances of humanity on the streets of New York than any air-conditioned professors’ office. I only wanted to dance the visions in my dreams… and to dance for all my brothers and sisters beyond space/time.
Those thoughts were lofty and divine.
I should be the embodiment of my visions
from the dreamland.
Simple truth is old wine.
Ignoring the ripples,
I made decisions from the old wine.
Some people thought I was mad,
talk to them again made me very glad.
Simple and willful, not unlike that mysterious Apple…destiny is my best friend. Regardless how “un-fortunate” it seemed from the outer world, I was actually really happy most of the time. No money to go to ballet class, but plenty inspiration to dance in my humble room after work. The room I lived in was about the size of some wealthy people’s closet. It was on a second floor of First Ave and 15th street- a little above the East Village. Unlike these days, wealthy lawyers and business people would own a nice apartment there. In the late 80’s, East Village was a place for students, artists, drug addicts, homeless, walking girls…
It was a mad-boiling-bathtub for fearless dreamers like me. Some suffered from very bad dreams. I had learned to respect others’ dreams by living up precious dreams of mine. There were people who were mean and unhealthy because they killed their own dreams… There were people who always copy others' dreams to get attention... Half-bottle-wine makes more noise than the full-bottle-wine. The shallower the bottle, the noisier it rattles… There were those who hated the dreamers, simply because they could dream no more...
My little room above the Village was a powerful dream field. There I was, singing and dancing in the candle light, writing love letters to the mankind, counting pennies to pay the rent… From the windows half glass, half plastic, taped with colored paper, I watched the dramas on the streets, and tried to see the dreams in people’s hearts and minds… Three years like fairy tales, and I did the first three full evening dance-theater pieces from what I learned from the streets.
In the crystal shop, there was a beautiful girl with eyes like a dolphin. She liked to give me some mysterious smile as if she saw another me from another timeline. We were telepathic in our communication. Not too much said but winking and giggling.
One night--- perhaps it was the midsummer-night--- we were sitting on the doorsteps outside the store. The air was faintly shimmering. Very few people were passing by. There were homeless and drunkards around the corner playing their street dramas with the passers. Different worlds and different dreams all gathered in the same street. Like busy birds, we did not remember what we had spoken or not spoken... The "files" had been downloaded between our minds. She looked more and more like a dolphin. Her nose grew pointier than moments ago. I did not know what I looked like while she stared at me in her newly shifted purple eyes. The noisy streets faded away... The human she and the human I remained on the doorsteps, while our other selves were laughing, crying, yearning like ET Phone Home…
Our human selves both had danced since we were 4-5 years old. We both knew what the greatness was about. The stars were falling right across our sights. Many visions reflected back and forth from mind to mind, as if we were saying to each other: “The stars and we are one. Shine on… “ Then the breeze came, cooling us down- down, down… down to the doorstep where we sat. We did not know it was the same night or another dawn.
Josie Conte was her maiden name. When she offered the request to be my dancer, we both were saying---I do, me too.
No, I did not walk home. I floated. I met my first dancer in the New York City ---not in the ballet class or the “ who is who society “, but in our Cinderella form, humble and profound.
Passing by those homeless on the sidewalk, I danced for them in my heart, deceptively still. We saw different sights of mankind in those streets unkind.
”Good night — princess” they said.
“Good night!”… My humble steps did not reveal my zeal.
Every star was the silent witness. I learned to listen at will.
Two weeks later, Josie asked me to choreograph a concert to someone’s music. That someone was crazily in love with Josie, and he wanted to see her dance to his music. My wage was $7.00 /per hour, and the rental of the studio was $7.00/per hour…Like every great artist who had ever walked the earth, we hold the answers secretly in confidence. Money could buy neither our mind nor our hearts. We were more than “great”… We knew we were the gifts from Divine to mankind.
We were Children of the Timeless Divine.
Soon after that night, I got a phone call from Richard, the composer.
-- “Hello, Yienan, I need to write something for the PR, what is the name of your dance company?”
--“ Oh, can I get you back tomorrow?” Calmly and professionally, I let down the phone.<
The name of---my--- dance--- company? Bubble, bubble, trouble turned giggle… The stars and I were happy campers that night. Ourr dreams had flooded the sky.
No, no great audience, no reviews, no flowers and no “ adoration” at that time. Only something like this---
Gee, you are real talented!
Or something like —
Beautiful! Where do you come from?
Is this ballet or modern dance?
I have never seen anything like this before. Is this Chinese?
Keep on going, girls…
That's it? Don't they get the MESSAGE?????
I did not punch their faces.
I had witnessed the dance of unseen.
Subtle is the dance of nature.
The seeds had been sown.
Children of the Timeless Divine …
Josie and I have always connected in spirit. We had lost contact after the 911. If anyone knows where she is, please forwarding this page to her. TNX
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music credit: Flowers in October by Tim Janis