On this page of Community Indigo Stories, you can read the
submissions of writing from thefriends of Ananya Dance Theatre
who have generously gifted their voices into this online collection.
Our new work Shaatranga: Women Weaving Worlds, is built on the
partly researched, partly remembered, partly imagined
stories of connections.
Indigo stories are reflections on; "how do we / have we / continue to show up for each other?" They are stories of world-making, multifaceted expressions of not only pain, but joys, laughters, and work we do that goes largely unrecognized, yet lives as a positive force in our world.
We welcome you to read this gathering of stories, and submit your own on our 'Submit Your Story' page.
Thanks to all of those who have gifted us so far with their words:
Crystal Brown, Prasanna Vankina, Gary Peterson, Hedy Tripp
* Indigo Stories are posted in the order they are received
submissions of writing from thefriends of Ananya Dance Theatre
who have generously gifted their voices into this online collection.
Our new work Shaatranga: Women Weaving Worlds, is built on the
partly researched, partly remembered, partly imagined
stories of connections.
Indigo stories are reflections on; "how do we / have we / continue to show up for each other?" They are stories of world-making, multifaceted expressions of not only pain, but joys, laughters, and work we do that goes largely unrecognized, yet lives as a positive force in our world.
We welcome you to read this gathering of stories, and submit your own on our 'Submit Your Story' page.
Thanks to all of those who have gifted us so far with their words:
Crystal Brown, Prasanna Vankina, Gary Peterson, Hedy Tripp
* Indigo Stories are posted in the order they are received
Crystal Brown
I speak of
Connected Continents
and
Breathe Love only Grandmothers could have shown me
I am Earth Manifest
because They knew who I was before
My Arrival
I know feelings deep and wide
Crossing Oceans and Fields
to be Present
to be Past
to be Future
To Just Be
Grandmothers and Grandmothers' mothers and as far back as Collective Memory will allow and further still in Our Dreams
They call Me...
I hear their Songs and Prayers and Hopes
Sometimes They Shout
Today They Whisper
Remember Who You Are
Remember We Are Here
Remember What You are Made of
Remember Where You come From
You are All Our Lives Incarnate
The Universe Calls You
Connected Continents
and
Breathe Love only Grandmothers could have shown me
I am Earth Manifest
because They knew who I was before
My Arrival
I know feelings deep and wide
Crossing Oceans and Fields
to be Present
to be Past
to be Future
To Just Be
Grandmothers and Grandmothers' mothers and as far back as Collective Memory will allow and further still in Our Dreams
They call Me...
I hear their Songs and Prayers and Hopes
Sometimes They Shout
Today They Whisper
Remember Who You Are
Remember We Are Here
Remember What You are Made of
Remember Where You come From
You are All Our Lives Incarnate
The Universe Calls You
Prasanna Vankina
I wonder if between the claps
of white men, in white coats and black suits you could hear echoes of farmers “Not a chest of indigo reached england without being stained with human blood”(1) synthetics are easier to control than People. the story of labor Is not merely the story of laboratories And the story of laureates the story of labor is the story of land And the story of livelihoods clay sits lodged underneath my fingernails in 2018. but the indigo underglaze finds its way into the subtle crevasses of my palm, forming its own current the pale brown of clay against a deep and demanding blue some Stories refuse to sit idle (1) Bhattacharya, Subhas. "The indigo revolt of Bengal." Social Scientist (1977): 13-23. |
Gary Peterson
Biloxi: You Raise Me Up
They formed a tight circle on the white beach sands of Biloxi, Mississippi. In the center stood Richard Long, 61, and words written for the occasion by a black woman in Minneapolis were read.
They formed-up in two facing columns, two-deep, perpendicular to the Gulf of Mexico shoreline. Between the columns, they unrolled a white fabric runner leading to the water. As Richard was led through the columns, they joined hands and sang their signature, "Walk hand in hand with me." Stepping into the Gulf of Mexico, Richard was surrounded by more than 100 brothers singing, "We shall overcome." No dry eyes on Biloxi's waterfront. Several of those present were not born in 1965 when Richard was stationed nearby at the Keesler Air Force Base. Black people were not welcome on the Gulf beaches in those days. The power of the federal government, represented by 17,000 soldiers, was no match for the power of attitude in Biloxi, Mississippi. A reporter-with-camera from the local newspaper was present to record the scene, as were the archival cameras hired by the Twin Cities Gay Men's Chorus to follow their tour of four Southern states. The day started with a 90-minute bus tour of Mobile, Alabama, narrated by three community volunteers. Our Magnolia Express bus had the gracious stories of Linda, who told us "You can say anything you want about somebody in the South if you finish with the words, 'Bless their heart!'" The City of Mobile (pop. 250,000) is built on a swamp, Mobillians claim to have started Mardi Gras with the arrival of the French in 1702. That other city, further west, did not start its Mardi Gras until "missionaries" arrived there from Mobile in 1850. Live oak trees, 150-200 years old, are everywhere throughout the city. Unlike some people, they are protected by law, and cannot be trimmed in the slightest. Mobile receives the highest annual rainfall of any urban city in the continental U.S., operates the 15th largest port, and provides 24% of the nation's seafood. Mobile Bay is only 3-to-10 feet deep in all of its 30-mile stretch to the Gulf. TCGMC's Mobile partner, Bay Area Inclusion, was exceedingly well organized, and obtained full underwriting for the performance. They feted all of us handsomely afterward, and many went clubbing with some of the guys until the wee hours. The only hitch in the proceedings occurred when the air conditioning in Bishop State Community College went out yesterday afternoon. Fans were on, wool tuxedos were dispensed with, and artists and audience got "pitty" together. Seven Mobile police officers volunteered their services for security on their day off, and one of them gave his phone number to one of the soloists. The three bus drivers who have been with us all week attended for the first time and said they enjoyed themselves a great deal. Their previous gigs have included multi-state transport for at least one George Bush campaign. Driving along the Gulf Coast today, and into New Orleans, was a sorrowful, sobering experience of disbelief. It is as bad -- and then some -- as the pictures on television. We have a few hours before starting the pub crawl to hand out publicity for tomorrow night's performance. And -- best news -- we don't have to be checked-out and on a bus by 9am in the morning. Time to see this city, up close, on foot. You raise me up so I can stand on mountains. You raise me up to walk on stormy seas. I am strong when I am on your shoulders. You raise me up to more than I can be. -- Act 1, TCGMC, Great Southern Sing Out Tour – Gary Peterson, written from New Orleans, Louisiana, USA, July 13, 2006 |
Hedy Tripp
To be blessed in indigo threads of Batak ulos
To the Batak people of North Sumatra, the sacred ulos or “blessing shawl” is a symbol of magical power to keep the wearer safe from physical and mystical harm. They are essential in ritual dance ceremonies of life and death, in marriages and funerals. The Batak ulos was first given to me in 1977 in a village on the island of Samosir, on the edge of North Sumatra’s Lake Toba, one of the world’s largest crater lakes. This was the beginning of a fascinating time with an indigenous people whose spiritual beliefs had withstood the challenges of Dutch colonialization and Christianity. As a botanist I gathered plants and one of these was the Indigofera indica, that grew on the mountainside of Pusuk Buhit where the village of Huta Ginjang nestled. When I was adopted by the Saragi Batak and I watched my Saragi mother boiling the indigo plants to extract the color, then dyeing the cotton threads, drying them, then spinning and weaving a special ulos that bears my name. On this sacred mountain by Lake Toba the generational knowledge remained strong in the power of ancestral spirits to affect the well-being of their descendants. The blessing and exchange of uloses wrapped its wearer in the strength of these ancient beliefs. These pictures capture many stories. Maybe one day I can sit with you and draw out the threads of memories still prevailing in my mind. |