Kathryn Blume - Love Letter

So the other night, the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company came to Burlington's Flynn Center to perform Blind Date, their new work about patriotism, honor, valor, the Dangerous State Of Things, etc...

Afterwards, there was a panel discussion with Bill T. and four panelists, who had been given a preview DVD of the piece. Each panelist had 3 minutes to offer a response, and then they opened the floor up for questions.

Personally, this was a huge opportunity, as I've never had the chance to tell a Really Famous Person Whose Work I Admire how much I like their work without coming across like a raving dork (see Kathryn's Raving Dork History: Abraham, F. Murray; Guthrie, Arlo; and Patinkin, Mandy.).

So, for your dining and dancing pleasure, here is my response to Blind Date, as read aloud to Bill T. Jones Himself.

Oh, before you read this, here are 10 things you need to know about the piece in order for my response to make more sense:

A Love Letter to Bill T. Jones and His Gang In The Middle of This, Our Blind Date

Dear Bill and The Gang (and I am hereby claiming the word “gang” for describing peaceful collectives, just as I am re-claiming the word “theatre” away from describing any place where war is being waged),

First off, I really hope this is a good letter, because I doubt I have the strength or the stamina to make love to each and every one of you individually.

Second, I just gotta say to Bill: I loved the military-industrial complex pas-de-deux. Wicked clever. You totally earned your MacArthur on that one.

Ok, so, Everybody – Bill and The Gang – this has been a great date so far. You’re really smart and funny and creative and HOT and I think we have a lot in common.

And believe me, I completely understand about the smoking. It really is this weird hybrid – a bad habit crossed with a powerful addiction…and a little something else. Something totally easy, kind of gross, falsely reassuring, and just a wee bit too enjoyable for our own good.

Sort of like our acceptance of war. We have so been meaning to cut down, and somehow, we never quite do. We never manage to break that habitual, half-conscious choice to fire up. To fire back.

Now, I know conventional wisdom would say that violence is inherent in human nature, and these evolving phases, these generations of war, are the inevitable result.

(I guess this is where we, as Folks On A Date, have to figure out if our values mesh enough for hope of a long-term relationship.)

I mean, I’m not a naïve loony, I know violence is inherent in human nature, but must it be inherent in human culture? We can choose nurture over nature. I have to believe we can. I have to believe that sooner or later we’re going to be brave enough, mature enough, wise enough to say, “You know what? We’re done. War is just not an acceptable option anymore. We know choosing peace is going to be hard and dangerous and we’re going to make mistakes, and blood will most likely be shed anyway, but we’ll probably make a whole lot fewer mistakes and shed a whole lot less blood than if we keep bombing the snot out of each other, so listen up people because This Is It! We’re stealing back the crescent moon! Deal with it!”

And this is why (and I hate to say this on a first date ‘cause it makes me sound really needy and stalkerish), but this is why I love you. Why I hope you’ll call me. Soon. Because I think what you offered up tonight, what you said with your bodies and danced with your voices and sang with image after image was an athletic, audacious, precarious defiance of the inevitability of war. You’ve made the outrageous choice that no matter what happens, you will side with peace.

You know, I think we’re already at the point in the dating process where we have the Big Talk about What We Really Want.

Why not? So, here’s what I want. Remember that guy who wanted to see more rage on stage? Of course you do. Well, me too! But I don’t mean victim rage. I don’t mean powerless, consuming, collapse-into-my-bed rage. I mean warrior rage! But I don’t mean violent, striking out, vengeful warrior rage. I mean love-warrior, dance-warrior, song-warrior, truth-warrior, drum-warrior, leaping yoga warrior rage – and you did that! That’s what blossomed up flew out flooded thundered and shattered my heart tonight!

In fact, I want to see MORE more rage on stage! More rage that we have accepted endless, insidious, inexorable war. More rage over election-stealing and fundamentalist-courting and SUV-driving and global warming-ignoring and poor people-screwing (that’s poor people getting screwed, not screwing each other) and patriotism-co-opting!

I want loving, brilliant, in-spite-of-our-fear rage that spills off the stage – and this is a little retro/60s/Living Theatre of me I know, but I want it caroming like a medicinal force of nature, like the holy, healing version of a natural disaster. I want a righteous, sanctified, unstoppable lovequake that will thrum us out of our disastrous fake yellow boxes of security, wash over us in a mighty wave of benediction, pour out of our mouths in a sacred vow of hope and send us – right now – into the streets shouting, “We can start over! We can start over! We can start anew!”

See, this is why I get a little nervous on a blind date. I know I can be slightly intense. But so can you! Another reason why we’d be so good together!

You know, I don’t know the day The Duck of Death will come quacking for me. That’s a date to which I am happy to remain quite blind.

I hope that it’s an endless, perfect day. I hope I die for all the right reasons, wearing the best red dress in the world. Maybe, if I have time, I’ll even shave my head. Because the bald girl dancer looks very, very cool like that, and I would love to die looking that cool.

But even if it’s for no reason at all, or if it happens on the Vanishing Point Day when war has become indistinguishable from peace, and civilians from soldiers, and the field of battle from the whole wide beautiful world, I will offer up my soul and consider it a life well-lived if – just once – I have nourished a heart, a stage, a tiny unrecognized country with a speck, a flick, a moment of the gravity-defying, back-bending, star-spangled hope that you’ve given me.

I don’t know if we have a future together, Youall and I. But for now, right now, here at the end of this blindingly magnificent date, I promise that when you dance, I will dance. When you speak the truth, I will repeat it. When you hold out your hand, I will take it. When you walk, I will walk along in time. And when you call out, I will catch you when you fall.