This may look like surrender, but it’s not.

She’s On Fire. 

Can you see it? 

Can you feel it?

(whispered: it’s hot in here. I’m hot.)

We are here. 

We have the power.

It’s ours.  

What if we could replenish each other?

Would violence end?

Would this dance be necessary?

When we gather, flashing hot, we feel each other. Heat rises. It powers us all. We radiate beyond this world. We resonate with supernatural powers. 

We transcend time - past, present, future.

Our heat can HEAL.

When a hot flash comes, welcome it. No shame, no discomfort. Own it. 

The heat rises up, and we all thrive. 

Revel in your heat.

Look at me dancing - Center stage! I must be a star! 

Pleased to meet you: I am Dracaena, or Sansevieria, the Snake Plant. The family discusses repotting me, but I don’t need much. Honestly, I like it in here. It’s cozy

My roots are in West Africa, but I took a terrible cruise to Jamaica, then finally landed in Dorchester, Massachusetts. It is cold, but as you can see, I’m good.

I’ve been indoors with Jess’ family for 75 years. I could have been a housewarming gift for Jess’ mother’s mother, Doris. Or, maybe, a baby gift. You see, when Doris came to this country from Jamaica, she only appeared to come by herself. She was pregnant with Jess’ Uncle Vern.

Doris’ other children, ages 5, 7, and 9, were left behind, as immigration law required. For four years. Imagine being separated like that? Must have been sad and lonely for everyone.

Let’s turn the lights down a bit. It’s nighttime. Thank you, that’s better.

In West Africa, the Snake Plant is a symbol of resilience. We know how to thrive with little water and low light. We grow in the yard to guard your home. We protect your children.

I’ve watched Jess her entire life. Lately, she’s been hauling me back and forth to this studio. I’m good at moving!!

I like a little breeze through my leaves.  

How are you feeling now? Keep listening, to me and to yourself.

Can you remember ever feeling both repelled and awed at the same time? 

Once upon a time, Jess, and her big brother Josh, made Pajama Soup. You could make it in the backyard, or even at the beach. Just dig a hole, add water, and then mix in your special, chosen ingredients:

• Fistfuls of grass

• Flowers

• Food coloring, if you could get it

• Leaves - the right leaves

• Dish soap or Mr. Bubble 

• A splash of Jean Naté or a pinch of talcum powder

And then, in the hole, with a nice stick, (there’s nothing better than finding the perfect stick), or maybe your hands, make the Pajama Soup into magic pies, and decorate with dirt sprinkles and pebbles on top. A beautiful, gross, mess. We were magicians. 

I have Pajama Soup here… for us. Let’s make magic together.

Beautiful. Gross. Mess.

Here it is. Wet. Cold.

For You. And me.

Cold like ultrasound gel on my belly.

Attraction and repulsion.

Danger and joy.

Veins, lungs, guts, squishy like this. 

In this ick, there is life, there is death.

Once upon a time, we were amoebas. 

Amoebas love the mess.

Amoebas can play.

Magic lives in the mess… of our insides and outsides. Our blood, our boogies, our bellies. 

(Jess says live, “Do you feel it?”)