The warmth of springtime is painting Bellingham, a small town 90 miles north of Seattle, with splashes and swirls of colors. The birds are singing, full of melody, mischief and wild, avian seduction. This is where I call home since 2020.
It is in Bellingham where, for the first time in 30 years as an immigrant, I am living with a sense of coherence in my heart. The cultural river of my birthplace and the cultural river of my chosen home are no longer excluding each other. They are beginning to braid through my day to day life.
This weaving is not just mine, but shared with my community in Bellingham. It happens through the weekly Tai Chi classes, through Social Alchemy, a community healing space, and many shared presence, friendship and creative plays. Here I am welcoming you, my substack community, to participate this weaving through being a witness.
On my recent birthday, my 9-year-old nephew, a second-generation immigrant, drew me a birthday card. A simple image: two flags, and a heart between them.
I was taken by surprise. I am the aunt who visits him and his younger brother once a month. We play games, cuddle and giggle. Rarely do we talk about serious subjects like this. Yet this boy intuitively reads me at a level deeper than adult language can reach.
Last year, while I was in China, a close friend asked me in a gathering:
“If the U.S. and China go to war, where would you live?”
This question pierced me like a blade. My friend cares about me deeply. He knew that cutting off any side would mean a devastating choice.
For a moment, my heart was engulfed in a blackhole of confusion and pain. The room was quiet, waiting for my reply. Then a soft beam of knowing from a field behind the blackhole came into my awareness. I found myself speaking this.
“No matter what happens at the level of nations, I choose to live from a place of connection. Of peace. Of building bridges. And I trust that if I stay true to that, the larger force of life will place me where I am needed.”
Two months after I spoke those words, I came back to the United States. The fires of wars are spreading in multiple places in the world. My friend’s question rings in my ears. Deep in my bones, I felt the time has come to live each day of my life to the fullest and embody the oracle my 9-yr old nephew has drawn for me.
I have invited my Bellingham community into the practice of cultural interweaving. And they have said yes, by holding me with friendship and offering companionship, by joining me in Dancing Tao Tai Chi, by stepping into Social Alchemy, a community healing space where world cultures from many places, play and creativity can meet in embodiment.
In this journey of weaving, I have been blessed with great friends and collaborators. Offerings like Dancing Tao Tai Chi and Social Alchemy were organically born out of deep friendships and shared passions my collaborators and me have cultivated throughout our whole lives.
Daelinar is a visionary artist, poet and musician. For the past 30 years, he has been weaving community through youth empowerment work, teaching ecology, making nature art, gardening, and storytelling. We both share a life-long passion towards movement arts and the in-between space between dance and Tai Chi. We dance not as a performance, but as a kinesthetic language to communicate with the wild and the sacred hiding in the silent unknown. Here are some videos, sword dance and self-defense.
Sara is a poet and a teacher in her humble disguise. She has 25 years of experience of weaving community and uplifting voices unheard. Social Alchemy is born out of the meeting of hers and my life’s work of cultivating a social-ecosystem of care and belonging. You may get a glimpse of our work through our song and poetry here.
As I continue to live into that tough question my friend asked me in China, I am reminded of Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerere’s words,
“The world is not something that happens to us. It is something we are in relationship with.”
May the dance in relationship blossom into fruits of a future beyond what individual mind in isolation can imagine.