Catching Spirits,
dreaming Dreams
The Lion King has
left town, but the vibrant music and movement of Africa
is alive and well year-round at Bush Mango Drum and Dance. With their spring
production, Spirit and Dreams, Bush
Mango offers the exuberance of West Africa to all of Rochester.
Located at 34
Elton Street, Bush Mango celebrates the community
and culture of West Africa through weekly
classes, school performances, and community events. Come and discover the power
and nuance of a tradition different from our own, yet one that nourishes what
we all value: family and community.
On a recent Tuesday night, drummers sat in a half circle, djembes between
knees. The intricate rhythms pulsed through the dancers — men and women,
black and white, teens and 50somethings — whose movements connect earth to
sky, all that’s basic to all that’s infinite. I was transported 20 years back
to the Peace Corps in Senegal; heard the muezzin
call the faithful to prayer; saw the displays of vegetables, rice, and
beans for sale, protected from the sizzling sun by makeshift canopies; smelled
the chalk from the schoolrooms; tasted the strong, sweet tea shared with
Senegalese friends during sieste.
Don’t miss this opportunity to welcome a little bit of Africa into your life. Show times for Spirit and Dreams are Thursday through
Saturday, June 1-3, at 8 p.m. at the Elton Street
studio. A special sneak preview for VIP supporters, followed by a wine
and cheese reception, is scheduled for Wednesday, May 31, at 8 p.m. For ticket
information and directions to the studio, pay a virtual visit to
http://bushmango.com/tickets/.
— Marjorie Sangster Rolleston
Death lessons
As if we could kill
time without injuring eternity. — Thoreau, Walden
I have a three-legged, 12-year-old golden retriever and a
600-foot driveway. Every morning that dog insists on hobbling down to meet the
school bus with my son and me. We’re often a bit rushed, so we walk ahead and
she usually catches up as the bus pulls in. Once the boy is safely on his way,
my dog and I return to the house at her pace, stopping to rest occasionally.
Sometimes I carry her.
Zoe is dying. My son sees it with
every excruciating hop each morning. My daughter recognizes it when I’m the
only one who can coax or lift our pup down the stairs. Time is short.
As pastor’s kids, my children know death. They’ve said
goodbye to a number of surrogate grandparents and doting friends in our faith
community. We have not insulated them against these passings.
My wife and I don’t speak in hushed whispers in other rooms about matters they,
too, must process. We answer their questions gently but frankly, and share as
much as they want to explore, including our own tears. They intuitively pick up
what they can handle and leave the rest to mull another day.
Recently, walking down the drive, my son and I did the
dog-years math and figured that Zoe turns 84 this
summer. The following weekend we visited spry, tough-as-nails, 83-year-old
grandpa. Only my wife and I caught it as we said our goodbyes at the end of the
day: At the door to the minivan, my boy buried himself in his grandfather’s
chest and inhaled deeply, a most profound expression of love on his
nine-year-old face. Sacred lesson learned.
Living means dying. Loving means loss. If we savor the
moments, they’re worth the cost.
— Rev. Corey Keyes
This article appears in May 31 – Jun 6, 2006.
