"For all those who've sailed with me"

After a night of blissful silence, I woke up to rain hammering on my tent’s roof. And while I was dry, of course the section of my oversized backpack that contained my clean underwear was not. Of course. But this was Lasqueti and you couldn’t be upset for too long! After all, our first workshop was about to be 

led by Stacy Murchison and Monica Strehlke, active company members of EDAM in Vancouver.

We explored movements in levels of space, learned some lifts and played with negative space. We examined bodies like scientists. Our partners lay limp and loose on the floor, the rest of us moving their arms, legs, hips, head, chest, to see what the body will do if you move it one way or another.  After dinner (including kale from Mark’s very own garden) I walked to the beach and scrounged for an oyster shell to take home for a souvenir. I think I might randomly take up painting and use it as a paint pallet. While the two kids Alberta and Nikko constructed an oyster shell tower, the rest of us sat on rocks and watched the sun set—witnessing something as beautiful as this:


We walked up the giant hill to Mark’s place, saw a HUGE black slug, lovely mini daisies, eating boysenberries on the way up. Now, much doesn’t happen on Lasqueti Island. It’s not exactly one of B.C.’s largest cultural centers. But this night was Arts Fest. There would be poetry slams and readings, visual art, and dance. But I skipped it. I wanted to keep this remote wonderland sacred from the outside world. Arts fest was another vestige of brief civilization that I wanted to avoid. 

Each day we had workshops and each day we ate delicious food. One day Mark cooked two of his own chickens! And let me tell you, if there was ever a time when I was going to break my vegetarianism and eat the most ethically grown meat possible, this was it. Instead, I had miso tofu, more of Mark's kale and brownies. Not too bad. My notes for each day include what the workshops covered--contact improv jargon quite useless for this blog or the number of times I saunaed that day. We hiked, we smoked Lasqueti's finest Lasquoobies. Drew had a guitar and would plays riffs and rhythms and we would make up songs to go along with them and sing them loud in the studio. We played charades. 

One night we had a live Harpist—a friend of Mark’s came down to play while we jammed. It was unreal. And all I could think was "I love my life, I love my life, I love my life." After the set had finished, the Harpist sat down with us and said, “It is so wonderful to be in the presence of people who move and live from that place and the people whose hearts outreach the extension of their bodies.” And it is. Being here I have been bludgeoned with a profound sense of gratitude. The phenomena about this workshop and maybe about this form of movement in general, is that you really get to know people. Dance is conversation between body and soul. We followed the contours of our bones in dance and found pathways to the heart. You listen to your partner and explore the flow together. It's improvised. Sometimes it’s difficult to refrain from trying to make things happen. We worked on finding stillness as comfort and uncertainty in contact. Because, eventually, something is going to happen. You learn how people move, their tendencies and pretty soon intense physical connections create emotional connection. Within five days of knowing each other, separating becomes a very morose notion.After our last class, we had a closing ceremony and shared our thoughts. And we all felt that what we learn in Contact seeps into our own lives. It's about giving, support, protection, taking risks, exploring the unknown, raw beauty and being present with yourself and the people around you.  




We walked down to the port to catch our ferry and a few of us miss it. We have a pint at the harbour bar and openly smoke on the patio. Beside the bar is a cookie shack. It’s a little wooden cabinet that inside has various treats in containers: lemon squares, date squares, peanut butter cookies, gingersnaps, thumbprint shortbreads. On each container is a price and there is a cash box off to the side. No on mans or supervises the cookie shack. There is enough trust on this island that they will openly put out goods and expect that you’re a good enough person to pay what you need to and not steal. Up a little farther is the “free store”. People who’ve been to the island leave things behind at this ‘store’ and then other people can come pick it up. Yes, for free. I myself found two books—one on the creative process and one containing contemporary scenes for student actors. What a find! 

I feel like the cookie shack and the free store are prime examples of how life is different on Lasqueti. In a lot of ways it’s easier than city life. It’s not corrupted by corporations that view people as dollar signs. You don’t have a job to buy things you don’t need. Life is slower paced out here. It is less about struggling. Here you dance, you eat, you play, you explore, you sauna, you talk. But in exchange, you take care of the land you’re planted on. This kind of lifestyle is a lot of work to maintain. They raise chickens and grown their own crops, they build extensions on their living areas, the maintain these areas, they cross the ferry to get groceries. It’s a physically laborious process to create  a life in the middle of nature. And because of the physicality, there are mental benefits. Less stress. It's a return to the roots of what’s important—that we meet our basic needs, are compassionate creative individuals and connect with one another. I will sorely miss this place and these people, but I vow to be back next summer, and hopefully for longer than five days. It was another 23 hour bus ride home to Calgary (get ready for the last time I will quote Mississippi in this blog for awhile)
“but my heart is not weary, it’s light and it’s free.
I’ve got nothin’ but affection for those who’ve sailed with me.”