Ok, tavern dwellers. Here is some reminders as to why to get your sentient butt (and your neighbours) to Maine this first week in June. Everything that is slumbersome, jaded and soul-starved in this world will want you to forget why this conference is so vital, troublesome and beautiful. To hades with that. What good is a feast without you at our table? Spread/share the word. The 40th Great Mother Conference: They say it’s your Birthday: It’s spring 1975. Frann Quinn, Ann Arbor, Mary Fell and John Rosenwald have piled into Quinn’s Matador and are heading for Colarado and the very first Great Mother Conference. Who know’s if the chariot will survive the trip. They are young, hair as yet unmarked by silver, in love with secret things. Ready for the wild rumpus. Taped to the rear window is their shaky pirate flag, their tart statement of intent: “To the Mother or Bust”. No one is quite sure what is about to happen. Friends, somehow, against all possible odds, we stand at the gateway to the fortieth conference. Our four musketeers, and many hundreds like them, have persisted in the rash and unfettered madness of attempting a re-building a culture that honours nuance, fire, delight and grief. And who called our wagons across those vast acres of feeling? Robert Bly. And what was the message back then and now? Do the work, do the work, do the work. The darkness around us is deep. This year we gather up nuckle-bones of wolves and hurl them into an inky black sky that then erupts into hundred thousand stars. In other words we bet big. Car keys, mortgage, the whole thing. I can’t remember the last time i saw a line up of teachers quite like this one, honestly. And most won’t even be taking the stage. The Tip of the Arrow... The theme this year is “Character, Language, and the Art of Growing Down”. Think of that as the tip of the enquiry. However, our arrows are usually a tad crooked, weighed down with flowers and prefer spirals to straight lines. But here’s a few lines before the expedition embarks. We know that the ancients - from Greece through to Ireland through to Africa - claim that to live well means a rowdy and thoughtful relationship to your daimon. The daimon is a kind of twin that prowls alongside, is often most vivid when things are tough, that pushes you towards the life you signed up to live before you fell into the amnesia of birth and forgot the whole affair. Platonic thought gives us four modes of being that will bring us closer to what this energy is trying to impart. We’ll explore them, and the how the notion of growing down into our body, place, family and artistry could look. More on that theme on the website. The Caravan... Holding the great lintel of poetry above our head we have Mary Ruefle, Fran Quinn (yes, the one with the Matador), Alison Luterman, Tony Hoagland, and a bevy of emerging talents that may just reveal their hand over the week. They carry language as wealth, substantial and curvaceous. The musicians are coming: the deep genius of Reza Derakshani is finding a seat with us after too long away. John Densmore, fresh from the release of his new book and jamming with Santana will be here, and we welcome for the first time a character who brings gospel and Quawwali together: the deep well of soul that is David Ballman. A maestro who has provided an soundtrack to many of our lives, Marcus Wise will be attending, alongside the welcome return of guitar man and teacher, Tim Frantzich. The artists Rita Schumacher and Janet Fredericks will be providing their agile touch to the creation of art, and the gallery will be holding firm its reputation as one of the great treasuries of the conference. A hundred visits to it (and a hundred works bought), wouldn’t be enough. Dear and old friends of our caravan are winding their cattle in: Deborah Felmouth is coming to teach yoga, and Cary Odes will be demonstrating the ancient arts of both comedy and nature awareness (often at the same time.) Halima and Abraham Sussman will be bringing their knowledge of Sufi movement, and Ann B. Igoe - a fiery perennial of the conference from the very beginning - will be coming to teach dance. How did we get so lucky? Transforming us into a trembling bell of sound will be the elder and leader of voice, Doug von Koss. Holding firmly onto our ankles as we vault towards the sun with Dougs incants, will be our ritual guide Miguel Rivera. Bringing her enormous literacy of story, writing and the movements of the soul, will be Gioia Timpanelli. Stephen Jenkinson; teacher, farmer and author, will be presenting his work around the business of both dying wise and holding up your corner of the earth in troubled times. He’s a man with a great fidelity to inventive speech and hard wonderings. It was a pleasure to witness him teach just a few weeks ago in the UK. I am carrying stories that look both ways this year. Back to those fairy tales that so enraptured Robert and the conference in its earliest years, and also out into the pristine tundra of Siberia and images that may seem new, possibly troubling, certainly filled with protein. We will be looking for a small group of committed individuals to assist in the presenting of these stories, so get in touch with us right away if you’d like to be involved. The Deal... So here’s the deal. It’s super simple. When i pack my bags in (almost certainly) rainy Devon in a few weeks, i will get out a piece of pen and a paper and stick a note to my luggage. It will say this: “To the Mother or Bust”. Fingers crossed it’ll make the three thousand miles plus of the journey. When i get to the conference i will place it in a bowl by the stage in Innisfree. I’m inviting you to do the same. It’s ritual. At the end of the week our crumpled little statements of intent will be part of the big ceremony - an offering of sorts. In this small way we remember the epic journey of an old, white haired Norwegian, his tigerish-clouds of words and everything that came from them - the beautiful and righteous havoc it brought to our lives - and all those that walked, hitched, drove, rode horses and motorcycles towards Colarado forty years ago. And from then on, all those that fell in love, fell out, made art, collapsed, re-configured, changed their lives, stayed exactly the same, were spellbound by the loons, wore a serape, changed their name to “sweetgrass woman” or “tubthumper”, who got the honour of a Hillman harangue, and finally, and most deeply, we remember those who’s boats went down in the storm. We offer welcome for those coming for the first time - jump in, the waters hot. We remember because……just like then No one is quite sure what is about to happen.
Posted on: Wed, 07 May 2014 17:45:19 +0000
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