Enjoying music, yoga, and friends with these crazies at Ohmfest.
Start Your Rebirth Right Now
“Breathe, mutherfucker, breathe.”
These words settle me. Hof’s voice is full of love and joy. No one delivers vulgarity in more beautiful tones.
This practice has built a small calm place inside me. It is there when I need it, when my reactions are poisoned with fear. It turns breath into dance. It turns breath into healing. It turns breath into a smile. It transforms my body into its own best medicine. I need not fear the aches, they become voices communicating their need for my attention and love. I need not fear the tightness in my stomach, it is a resentment I can release with an exhale. I need not fear the future for there is infinite healing and love in this moment.
Join me in healing yourself. Start right now. Wim Hof went searching for life-saving happiness and he found it outside in the cold and inside in the breath.
https://www.wimhofmethod.com/free-mini-class
Hope
Live music. A friend lamented at music’s healing power of sound, connection, rhythm, and pure magic. I shared the lament. This is the longest I’ve gone without a proper concert (even counting the miracle yoga and music fest we attended in August).
Then I remembered I had tickets for a Lone Bellow concert at Union Transfer in Philly in March. My date for that show dumped me months ago and I was pessimistic that it was still happening at all. I looked up the venue and the show is still listed as on!
With good news trickling out and an event date right at the beginning of spring, I’m cautiously optimistic that my friend and I will be letting loose like the maniacs we are in a couple months.
Now, to find that magical, four-day, hippie fest my sons and I have been craving…
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Learn More Fun at Ohmfest
Fun is learning.
The more you break down the barriers between fun and learning, the more you receive of each.
This past weekend we attended Ohmfest in Dover, Delaware. It was our first camping and music festival since Lockdown and our first yoga festival ever.
I didn’t require any participation, but my sons joined in on three or four yoga sessions. They also figured out how to have breakfast away from the bugs while lounging on yoga mats in the screened in section of our tent.
We set records for our camp set up and break down, some of which happened in heavy rain. And the boys got to experiment with whittling and hatchet use before we got to the fun of the fest.
Saturday storms appeared to keep families away, so we spent much of the day on our mats, playing ga-ga ball (they had to teach me, and then other kids, as families showed the next day), bocci, and soccer near the music.
After an early morning and an action-filled day, we hit the hay just after sunset and survived a late-night rain storm.
Sunday morning I was up early for sound meditation and more yoga. Midday music from Rivers & Rhodes kept our day rolling and The Hungry Spork fueled us back to the ga-ga pit.
My sons made more friends, taught them the game, and I got a break from ga-ga to try Ayurvedic yoga.
It was my first experience with this lifestyle-focused practice and Mallory Rose Spencer offered a wonderful introduction.
The fest was coming to an end, but the best was to come.
Disco Risqué took the stage and started to make things funky. No one was on the dancefloor yet, but these guys were bringing it and deserved some energy in return. I’m not nearly as brave as I seem, so I talked my son into going to the grass with me.
He didn’t stay at first, but once I got myself in front on the music, I wasn’t going to leave. Soon, another dancer hit the ground and both my sons joined us.
I didn’t know how much I needed this: funky trumpet, keyboards, bass, guitar, and drums; sun shining on barefeet pounding the moist ground; and getting loose.
My younger climbed my back and it was a time warp through nine years of that guy bouncing on my shoulders. It almost brought me to tears as I thought of his mom and how much she would love this moment. I looked to the sky and thanked God for this answer to my prayers.
It wasn’t without challenges, but we focused on manifesting fun and were blessed with it in abundance.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason
Saturday Dance Gratitudes
- Yoga. I don’t slow down easily. Yoga pushes me into an intentional dance with my body. I become my own partner, listening and responding to nonverbal cues that I never heard. There’s a call and response between the soul and the body. I’ve started to learn their languages and better honor these parts of my Self.
- Sex. Mind, body, and soul engaged and released in connection with another mind, body, and soul. Moving and responding on levels beyond thought. Acting out love for oneself and another, simultaneously. I lose myself much as I did at the days-long rave or in the mosh pits I shouldn’t have survived, but also as I do in meditation or yoga. I can give my mind a break and act in body and soul. In concert with a lover, moving to all the beats of our hearts.
- Parenthood. Children read your moves like dancers. They emulate, follow, push against, swirl, and take the lead. Little of it is graceful, but they dance. It’s often more like jiu-jitsu or boxing than a tango, but they are working with a partner. The dance never stops, but the tune is always new. Sometimes a song will cut off in the middle of the chorus, you’re finishing a well-rehearsed verse and your partner has found an entirely new genre. I’m not very good at that transition. I want to finish the song we started, but my child may not even remember how it went. It’s the hardest and most frustrating 11-year dance of my life; therefore, the most rewarding. Sometimes I nail it. Seamlessly from watching a documentary on the couch to a wresting match to a ball of tears in my arms, sometimes I let go of myself and follow the dance where it needs to go. Often, I step on toes, fall on my ass, and blame my inexperienced partner for my missteps. I try to forgive myself for those moments, but I find that to be the hardest part of loving myself. You can’t try to dance, you’re either dancing or you’re not. I try so hard to be a good parent. The harder I try, the more clunky and self-conscious the dance becomes. It’s a greater challenge after two months of imposed isolation as a single parent. I’m taking a necessary break from that dance this weekend. I am blessed and grateful for the opportunity. I believe my sons are as well. They will reconnect with family and I’ll get to rest (literally) weary legs and (literally) sore feet.
- “Trouble In Your Mind,” The Carolina Chocolate Drops. I’ve been singing this line to my boys for years, “Don’t get trouble in your mind.” A total joke as Zerbeys are always cooking up trouble. One day as a toddler, Westen took to charging around the living room, yelling this lyric over and over, head butting every cushion and pillow in the room with insane joy. Up there with potty training with a magazine in his grip, this proved that this was my son.
- Wrassling. My boys are boys, through and through. Put on some loud music and start swinging them around the room and they are in instant bliss. Jiu-jitsu isn’t allowed during our play fighting, it’s a lot more WWF than art. We invent moves, naming them as we execute. We size each other up, they get stronger every darn time, and we push each other to physical limits in the most fun and loving ways possible.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason
Friday Dance Gratitudes
1. Westen’s dance with a friend. A widow friend of mine was watching the boys recently and likes to have dance parties. I wasn’t there, but she said Westen agreed to dance with her. It was such a sweet thing, but struck me hard. Mary was very affectionate. She taught me the importance of touch as I had come from a family that didn’t express love in that way. I cannot provide a loving, female touch for my sons. I’m grateful for the friends who will break the rules. I am grateful for those who choose life and love over fear and death.
2. James Brown, Woodstock ’99. Officially the first act of the weekend, we were a little late to the grounds and didn’t have a great spot on the gently sloping hill. “Dude. When the music starts, let’s jump up and crowd surf closer.” Doubt crossed my buddy’s face. “I’m too tall, they’ll never keep me up.” “No way man, just keep hollering so people know you’re coming, if they push you the wrong way, roll towards the stage, trust me.” He didn’t trust me. Brown’s hype man came on and I said, “Okay, I’ll meet you at the tent later.” It was the first time I had crowd surfed during the day and it was a blast. I grooved right towards the stage and, at times, rolled like I was a kid on a hill. I dropped into a dance circle (crowd density will put you in a dance circle or mosh pit, depending) and let loose to a legend. It was the last time I got on top of a crowd. There were some scary moments that weekend. It was my first personal experience of imminently dangerous mob mentality. I’m grateful for my insane adventures, dancing in the middle of a riot (a separate gratitude, perhaps), and an inherent immunity to following the crowd.
3. Seu Jorge, The Trocadero, Philly, 2006. That was the year France knocked a cocky Brazil out of the World Cup. Hours before Mary and I were to see, as it turned out, Brazil’s most disappointed fans.
I can’t recall if there was an opening act or if they were so lackluster as to be forgotten, but I do remember the empty stage that seemed to last for an eternity before Jorge appeared. Nearly half the crowd gave up and eventually left. Mary and I went to the balcony to have a seat, the wait was long. I noticed a man wearing France’s colors, beaming with joy. That was weird, even the die hards still present were getting surly. “Oh no. Honey. The band is Brazilian.” I had watched the game. Truly a devastating loss for a team that had cruised to the quarterfinals. “Even if they come on, they’re probably wasted. Okay, this’ll be a story at least. If they suck we’ll roll out.”
They did suck. Lifeless, shoulders drooped, they shuffled on stage. Mary and I were let down, we had become huge fans after seeing Jorge play Bowie songs in Portuguese in The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou. Then, like a time lapse video in health class, we watched the healing power of music. It was transfixing. Life crawled back into their bodies. It seemed to take ages, but they started moving to the music. The crowd felt it. We had stayed in the balcony, watching in near disbelief. It became a party. The audience was small, but the energy pendulum swung as high into positivity as it had into negativity. The band entered the crowd and they all swirled to the music. We marveled and moved with the human hurricane from our place in space. It was pure gratitude, healing, and redemption. The band was grateful for those who had stuck it out, the crowd was grateful for the band’s ability to rescue a presumably failed evening, and we were grateful to be a part of this unique moment in concert history.
4. Love Seed Mama Jump, Anson B. Nixon Park, Kennett Square, PA, 2018. Just me and the boys. Nonstop dancing. We had a soccer ball near the stage and bopped and clowned among hula hoopers and kids. No cares. All fun.
5. Hoots and Hellmouth, Mushroom Festival, Kennett Square, PA, 2019. I was the first one on the dance floor. The boys had friends with them and were nearly embarrassed by me. I was feeling myself. Hoots is one of the best foot stomping bands you’ll ever see. I’ve been a fan since their previous West Chester incarnation, Pilot ‘Round the Sun. On our first date as parents, Mary had to “pump and dump” between Hoots sets in 2009.
My friend Lori joined me on the dance floor and I Iike to think we shamed all the twenty-somethings sitting on their duffs. I’m grateful for not giving a darn. I’m grateful for knowing just how short life might be. I’m grateful for the healing power of movement. I’m grateful for every dance.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason
Dance Memories, Sucka
Our Sunday School leader launched a gratitude project this week and I’m blessed with a daily regimen of gratitudes. I think this is Day 48 of practicing the Wim Hof Method (I’m up to 5 rounds of 30 intentional breaths with an extended retention after the last breath and 4-5 minutes of cold shower each day [I’ve missed 3 or 4 showers]). During the breath retentions and cold shower, I often mentally recite affirmations and thank God for specific blessing in my life.
For my gratitude project, I’m going to focus on important dance memories. Dancing is a spiritual exercise. I am grateful for the moments I’ve let go in movement.
1. Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band playing “Lay Your Burden Down” while Isaac was on my shoulders and we were slipping and sliding on muddy ground. It was our first road trip after losing Mary. She and I had seen Rev. Peyton the previous year in Lancaster and danced our front-row butts off.
2. Summer Music Festival at Delaware Art Museum: Mary and the boys and I danced through the entire Spokey Speaky set to close the night. It was mostly kids and we did that careless and carefree dancing that you can only do when adults aren’t getting in the way.
3. Watching the boys, especially Westen, get loose to music at parties, weddings, music festivals, the Lego table, or the kitchen. I often catch him in a little groove while building or helping me with dinner.
4. A slow dance to Sinatra with my girlfriend in the kitchen this past weekend. Her companionship, love, and help has made these months feel more like thriving than surviving.
5. Mountain Jam 2019: A unique experience. The boys will soon be too old and cool to spend that much time dancing with their dad. But dance we did. Front row for Sister Sparrow and the Dirty Birds, Toots and the Maytals, and Michael Franti. All favorites of Mary. We snuck into a VIP show with Franti and the boys ended up on stage for both of his performances. Toots was my first concert and dance with Mary in Dewey Beach. We danced with Sister Sparrow’s sister, Isaac on my shoulders again.
-Isaac and I were the only males in a morning hula hoop workshop.
-We discovered a band called Bella’s Bartok and danced with their hype squad adorned in giant Carnivale-like costumes (them, not us, although the boys played with some props).
-Danced with strangers and made friends (I might have a memoir title there).
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason
Mosh, Sucka
Jordan Peterson has this amazing point about nihilistic punks (musically speaking) who go to concerts and dance with a fervor that undermines their insistence that nothing matters. They’re acting out a primal religiosity, enacting an inescapable meaning. I wasn’t a nihilistic punk, but pretty close to it in my teens and twenties. As a scrawny kid in mosh pits and raucous dance floors, it didn’t make sense that I never got hurt. I wasn’t using Christian language, but I would let go and trust that I wasn’t in danger. I wasn’t thinking, but I was experiencing the Holy Spirit.
That might sound crazy, it might sound one step from snake handling (it probably is), but I now have friends who came out of the Christian and Straight Edge hardcore and punk scenes. There are some serious thinkers in that set. Maybe there are immunities to be found in mosh pits. Exposure to germs, togetherness in beat, individuality in dance, a realization that while you may get hurt…most people aren’t out to hurt you, a letting go of ego…although you are surrounded by people…none are really watching…unless you pose a danger.
Exposure outside your comfort zone. Exposure to death, ideas, varied perspectives, tragedy, and as many dangerous things as you can stand. We each have what we know and it is a tiny patch of light surrounded by darkness. When you step one foot into that darkness, your patch of light gets a little bigger. When you lean into the darkness, you start to learn how inifinitely large it is. That’s scary. No matter how awake you are, there is a new monster lurking in the unknown.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason