NOTES FROM THE FIELD: Imagine That!

I've never been shy about using my imagination. I love giving it a workout as much as I love feeling my quads burn after a nice long cardio session on the stairmaster. I love imagining what the characaters in the tales I tell look like, sound like, move like. I walk down the street dreaming up ways to entertain the kids in the hospital, special gifts for my husband and friends, ways to indulge in the travel that I so love, on a performer/yoga teacher salary. What I come up with may not always be the best, but I have no problem going back to the drawing board of my mind, time and time again, and creating something new, something different, something unique. My brain does not like sameness, or repeating, so sometimes, even when I want to "rest" my grey matter, I simply cannot shut off (even with a lot of yoga!) the little voice that says "What if you???" And so, I've always been a little sad when I've heard people say, "I don't have an imagination." Oh course, it's not true, we all have them - but like a muscle we never use, this fabulous thing called our imaginations can get flabby and weak, if we don't use it. We stop letting our minds soar, and so they become grounded - and not in a good way, but in a stuck way, in a "if it's not in front of my face, it can't possibly be" way. It used to be that this type of they call "in the box" thinking was the domain of adults alone, but lately, I have begun to see more and more children, even as young as seven or eight, leave the land of make believe behind for the land of literal and linear, and I'll say it - drab!! In folktales all sorts of fantastical things occur - animals talk, the sun and moon live as brothers on earth, and in the sky at the same time, young men turn into bears - it breaks my heart, when I hear a kid say, "Yeah, but that can't really happen!" or "That never happened!" Says who????? Who's to say what happened in that time of long, long ago? We know there were dinosaurs - how unbelievable in a way are they - creatures like giants, with huge claws and teeth - are some of the things in stories anymore believable that that? I sit here typing on a tiny keyboard, that will somehow connect me to people around the world - how believable would that have been to my ancestors? Of the fact that I can speak to my friends in Argentina - not just hear their voices, but see their faces as well, or that a big metal bird can fly through the sky with hundreds of people in it? All of the things that we use without thought today, were once, just figments of the imagination. They were all the unlikely dreams of someone at sometime who were not afraid to use the inquisitiveness we are all born with. And that, is the power of the imagination. Yes, it's nice I can use that part of my brain to bring a character to life, but an even more important use of my brain was the way I thought of being a storyteller in the first place. The day I dared to say, "What that lady - Carmen Deedy - is doing on that stage - I can do that!" And once I conjured it to my brain, I began the process of making it come to be, just as Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and all those guys, first saw our technology in their heads, and they worked to bring it to fruition. As I stood in front of a college class recently, and talked about why stories are so important, the importance of imagination in building ones life came to me in a flash. I said to them that until we can imagine something more than we see, how can we ever hope to have more than what we see, more than just the status quo, more than what we have been born into and see around us? Yes, work will be involved - hard work, and maybe failure, too, but before we can know any of that, we first must see it in our heads. We must have the blue print, the road map, that our imaginations can give us. And that is why, I love folktales and fairytales, because it says to our imaginations, "Yo, get off the couch and start working out!!" It's like the exercise that you do that doesn't feel like exercise, it just feels like you are doing something engaging and fun, that, oh, yeah, just happens to be good for you. Having an imagination isn't just for kids, and certainly isn't babyish or childish, it is essential. It's like the ABCs of building a life, without it you can't even begin to bring into existence all that might be within you, and that would be a waste, and a shame.

Notes from the Field: Patience, Patience, Patience

I am oh, so happily sitting in a lit room, with heating drumming it's way up the pipes, three days after Hurricane Sandy knocked the NY/NJ area on it's ear, and every day pleasantries right out of my apartment. I try really hard to remember to be grateful for the "little things" - light, plumbing, drinkable water. Each time I have returned from Haiti, I am always ACUTELY aware of just how blessed not just I, but EVERY American is. But, after a little while the sense of entitlement seeps right back in, and I find myself becoming annoyed if the train is a tad late, or if - GOD FORBID, my cellphone acts a little strangely. I forget that things I take for granted, are not rights, they are perks - privileges that I should constantly be thankful for, and in awe of. So, I look at the past three days, and to however long it takes to restore my beloved PATH and subway service back to their under appreciated, but when you really think about it AWESOMENESS, as a time to cultivate that most important of qualities - gratitude. And, I will try really hard to be the model of patience, as people who have far more skills and knowledge than I do, work their tails off to restore a mass transit system that allows people like me to zip in and around the area, car free, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for just a few dollars. And so, if you see me telling stories in the next few weeks, don't be surprised if this next one comes out of my lips, because every time I tell it, I am reminded that patience is indeed a virtue. And one I need to grow in myself. "There once was a man who returned from a war, completely changed. where once he was loving to his wife, now he barely looked at her, and spoke harshly when he did. The wife, saddened by all this, went to the town wise man. "I hear you can make potions to make someone love you again. Please, please, make such a potion for me." The wise man said he would, but to do this, he would need the woman to bring him three whiskers from a tiger. The woman left, puzzled about how she could possibly get the whiskers, and not be mauled to death. And then she came up with a plan. She went to the lair of a tiger, and placed a bowl of the richest cream some distance from the mouth of the cave, and then hid herself in the woods. When the tiger came out, it sniffed the air, but did not see her, and ate the cream. For one full week, she did this same thing. The next week, she moved the bowl of cream closer to the mouth of the tiger's lair, and when it came out, she still stood a good distance away, but she let the tiger see her. Another week passed, and she moved the bowl closer to the mouth of the tiger's cave, and she herself crept closer. Nearer and nearer both she and the cream got, as first weeks, then months passed, finally she was standing besides the tiger when it drank the cream. It gently went to the woman, and let her stroke it's great head, and as she did, she pulled three whiskers from it's face. Going back to the wise man, she proudly said, "Here are the whiskers you wanted. Now, make the potion that will make my husband love me once more." The wise man smiled, and replied, "First - tell me how you got these whiskers." And so she did, relaying in detail how she had patiently worked every day to gain the tiger's trust. And when she was done, the wise man smiled at her, and said, "And it is the same thing with your husband - you MUST have patience." Life is full of challenges, and many of them cannot be fixed in a day, a week, sometimes not even for years - but it's in those times, instead of tearing our hair out, maybe we can begin to practice patience. If it's something we want badly enough, like the woman in the story yearning for the love of her husband, than it is surely worth the wait!

NOTES FROM THE FIELD:WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!

There is an Aesop's fable that goes like this: a grasshopper and ant are best friends since birth. They walk together, talk together, eat and dance together. One fall day, the ant stops their fun games, and begins to gather harvest to put away for the cold winter ahead. The grasshopper does not, "There is plenty of time to do that,"he says. "Come friend, and dance with me!" But the ant warns that though it seems like winter is a long way off, it will be there before they know it, and if they don't act now, put aside food now, when the winter comes they will starve. But, even as the ant works, and warns her friend, the grasshopper ignores her, and continues to dance. Time passes, and by and by it is winter,and one day the grasshopper realizes that there are no crops to eat, and he has not put aside a single morsel, and is doomed to starve. The only thing he can think to do is go to his dear friend, the ant, and hope she will share... In the last month, I have had the opportunity to tell that story to several groups of pre-schooler and their teachers, care givers, and families. At this point in the story, I always stop, and poll the group. "Who thinks the ant will share her food?" I ask. And, almost every time, a sea of little hands shoot up in the air. "She'll share! Julie, she should share with her friends!" they tell me as if it is the one and only answer. Seeing their willingness to give always encourages me, and makes me smile. But one day, when I asked the adults in the room whether the ant would share or not, I was greeted with rolled eyes, and grunts of disgust. "No!" they said, practically jeering at the poor grasshopper their imaginations had conjured up. "Serves him right for not listening!" The harshness in their voices made me want to ask the question to the next group I performed in front of - and when I did, the results were exactly the same. While the children were forgiving, the adults thought the grasshopper got exactly what he deserved. As I thought of this informal poll, a question formed in my mind - when exactly, do we begin to hold a grudge? When do we go from seeing everyone as someone worthy of a second chance, of forgiveness, to seeing others as so separate from ourselves, that even though they were life long friends, we would slam the door in their faces just because, "we told them so?" I laugh sometimes when people say that children don't live in the "real world", when to me, it seems that it is adults that don't live in the real world. Children live only in the NOW, the present, the only time that is really "real", because the past is gone, and the future hasn't happened yet - that is why they are so willing to forgive. We see how they may look at us like we are satan when we take away a toy, but are begging for a hug five minutes later, because the moment of anger is gone - it is a new moment, and in that moment the anger is a thing of the past. It's we adults that can't let go of the past, that hold a grudge, that need so desperately to be RIGHT! Living in moments that are gone, is not living in reality - because unless there's an app on that new i-phone that I don't know about, the past is not REAL. And more than that, when exactly do we learn - because I believe it is learned behavior - to turn our backs on our fellow living beings? When do we change from being compassionate and giving like a child, to being hard, and afraid to share, because we fear there won't be anything for us? When do we forget that we are all in this world, this life, together? Having spent A LOT of time with kids all my life,I'd say the shift begins at age 12 or so, when being like "everyone else" becomes more important than anything in the world. That is the age of cliques and "mean girls", and jocks versus geeks. It is the time of separation from the parental unit - which we need to do - but also the separation, it seems to me, to our fellow living beings. Of course, as a friend who was a nun, and is now a teacher pointed out to me, people do need to learn accountability, and that actions have consequences, so that they won't repeat their mistakes, and that they will learn valuable life lessons. I mean, no, the grasshopper shouldn't live his life mooching off the poor little ant. But, the lessons can come with kindness, the lesson can come while a hand is being extended to help out. Because how the story ends is that the ant does in fact share, BUT, she tells the grasshopper, "Next year, you must promise that you will work just as hard as I do!" And the grasshopper does. He learns the lesson that was compassionately taught by the ant that never forgot that even thought the grasshopper made a mistake, he was always someone worth helping, simply because he was another living being.

NOTES FROM THE FIELD: THE STORY OF OUR LIVES

It's hard to talk about some things without being a "downer", so forgive me as I introduce that word that brings a shiver to many a spine - death - to this written conversation about storytelling and stories. Last week, a man I have known for, I'd say 11 or so years, passed away of a heart attack - at 44 years old! It was sudden, it was shocking, but like so many other things in life, it has been unexpectedly joyous. For in this past week, I have been a part of a chain of emails that have spoke of his love of bringing joy to children, his excellence as a father, and his compassion as a friend. The story of his life, as told by those of us left behind has been inspiring, moving, and uplifting, as opposed to sad and morose. It has made me remember that every day of my life, I am writing and telling my own life story - that every choice I make is another plot twist, that I - and no one else, is the author of. If I don't like how this story is playing out - I can change it, by the choices I make, by the actions I take. Like the folktales I love and tell, my story will be full of mystery, things I don't understand - but as a woman I met at a hospital told me, "There are some things that aren't ours to know." And, I love that! That though, yes, I can shape the story of my life by my deeds and words, there are always going to be things I cannot control, little surprises, little challenges that help keep me alive and alert, and remind me to be humble and grateful for this funny little gift called life. As I think over Vince's life - or what little I know of it - he was every bit as much of a hero as the one's in my story - for though life threw him curve balls, he kept in the game, kept going with a big full heart, always full of ideas. People sometimes ask me if I tell personal stories, and for the most part I don't. One little anecdote here or there, but I stick to folktales, because, frankly, my life has not been anywhere as interesting as the stories I find in folklore collections. But, maybe, maybe, if I live as fully, as courageously as Vince, one day, I will look at the story of my life, and find it has as much to tell, as the story of this wonderful man who just left this earth. Maybe, if I can continue to author my life in the noble and passionate way he did, as the heroes and heroines in folktales do, I will have a story worth sharing with others, a story that I can only hope will be as uplifting as the life of Vincenzo Tortorici's.

NOTES FROM THE FIELD; LISTEN!!!!

Recently I've been asked to do a number of storytelling workshops. Short ones time wise, about a BIG SUBJECT: Storytelling. With only an hour and a half or so to take on this ancient art that I love, I have been wondering what to focus on? Do I chose the amazing material of the stories themselves - these gems packed with everything from wisdom to mystery to fun, these tales that are so often the basis for so much of the literature we have read and heard through out the ages?? Or do I speak on "the technique" of how I work on a story - the way I chose what I want to tell, and how I try, to the best of my ability, to honor the story I have chosen? Maybe people would want to hear about how to use improvisation, movement, American Sign Language in their tales? Maybe they'd like to know how to adapt stories for a modern audience, or find a way to take one story and make it appropriate for different age groups? Or maybe they'd just like me to tell them a good story, and call it a day?? But the other day, as I was reading an article on storytelling and clowning (two things near and dear to my heart) I saw the words LISTEN DYNAMICALLY. Eureka - I found my topic!! Like many things we do all the time - breathing, for one, we sort of take listening for granted. We assume that we are listening because we hear something - noise, a voice, music - but hearing, isn't listening. Listening, is way, way deeper and harder. Listening doesn't just happen with the ears, it happens with all the senses. For a storyteller it takes place in your heart, and in your gut as you read story after story, searching for the ONE, that is calling to you to tell, to bring it to life. Listening is what transpires, when you choose that tale, and you begin to know what parts to emphasize, what bits to shorten, how one character talks or walks, what you want your audience to walk away with. Listening is knowing watching the audience as they arrive, and sensing their mood, feeling out whether to go "fast and funny", or "long and deep". Searching for the shy kid, who might welcome attention, if I stray into the audience, and the one little person, who might freak out if the strange lady telling the story gets too close. It's changing any "game plan" you had a moments notice, because it would not suit the audience that is in front of you. Listening is being vigilant, not checking out, being present - being sure that what you are doing at the time, is THE BEST way possible to serve the people who have been kind enough to take time out of their lives to see you. Listening is being responsive, responsible, and I would say - respectful - audiences "tell" you what they are all about, and if you listen closely enough - dynamically enough to quote the article I saw, you can hear it. Sometimes, just like you don't hear a word quite right, you can misread a signal when you're listening, but the only way to correct the situation is to listen even harder, so you can bring your ship back on course. People often ask me if the three things I do with my professional life - storytelling, clowning in hospitals, and teaching yoga, have anything in common. And they do - listening. My work in the hospitals is one long listening exercise - what does that child who is in pain, need?? Quiet music, or rowdy slapstick - only when I listen to what they have to offer do I know. In a yoga class, are my students understanding the alignment and philosophical points I am making? I will only know if I am present and listening. Listening goes well beyond anything I do in my professional life, it is what I must do to be the best wife, friend, person, I can be. To quote this article, which was written by a woman named Annabelle Morgan, who works with children through both storytelling and clown in Africa "Dynamic Listening is about engaging in a game with the universe - you listen to the empty nothingness, the universe delivers, you respond, the universe listens and so on. A cosmic ordering system, both playful and terrifying!"

My Argentina Tour - the gift that keeps giving!

I have been back home from Argentina a week now. I am fully back in the NYC/NJ flow. I have stopped needing to refrain from saying, "Hola!" instead of hello, and - I know I am only one of about three people who will say this - I am very much enjoying our HOT summer weather! But, the other day, after I returned from telling at the Hans Christian Anderson statue in Central Park, on the same bill as one of the "mothers" of the modern storytelling movement, Laura Simms, when I sat down to write about how wonderful that venue is, and how GREAT it was that people stayed to hear me tell a story or two after Laura did, I opened my email, and found this BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING letter: Dear Julie Pasqual, I'm almost certain you do not know who i am, but i read about your visit to Argentina this past week. My name is Lucio and I go to St. Xavier's College, a school you went to tell stories. Unfortunately i'm in my last year, so i was not able to enjoy your visit. You must be also wondering: "why is he writting this to me?" The fact is that i entered your blog and read about you and noticed you are an actress as well as a storyteller. I'm currently acting on a play (let's say i'm an actor too), and got really frustrated when read you were already back to the US, because I was really looking forward on meeting you, so we could hopefully have a talk! I love the story "The Little Light" and picturing you performing it makes me want to go back in time to enjoy your performance. I believe the story is brilliantly written and gives the ideal message to kids. I hope you recieve this e-mail, because I just wanted to let you know how much i love your work, how much of an inspiration you are and how sorry I am for not meeting! :( Best wishes, Lucio Robredo And so, I was once again transported back to Buenos Aires to the all the terrific students and teachers I met, and I closed my eyes, and said, "Thank you!!" Thank you Lucio, for being the kind of person who is moved to send such a lovely email - may you always have the courage and heart to follow your dreams. Thank you Dream On Productions, for a three week tour, I will never, ever forget, and that has left me inspired as a teller. Thank you teachers, who looked at the materials before them, and said, "Yes, let's take a chance, and book this Julie person to come to perform for our kids." And, thank you, Universe, for giving me the right gifts, at the right time to have been able to bring something to my Argentinian brothers and sisters!!

Notes from the Field: The Gift of Light

Yesterday my first two shows since returning from Argentina had a surreal feel to it. Fighting NOT to say, "Hola!", and explain that I was from the United States, was down right hard. After three weeks of many shows, that little bit of a lead in has come to feel very "in my body". But, though I fought off the urge to talk REALLY, REALLY fast like I always did in Argentina - to demonstrate how fast some of us in the NYC area speak, and to loosen up the crowd - and I told some tales that had been sitting on the shelf while I was in South America, I did turn, in my second show to a story that got a really good work-out during my Buenos Aires time, I call it "The Little Light". In brief, the story concerns a king, who, before he retires, must chose which of his three sons is best suited to take his place. All three are good men, the eldest excels in business, and has the bags of gold to back it up. The second is a talented farmer, who's every seed produces a wonderful bounty. The third is a bit of a dreamer, he tells stories, sings songs, his presence makes people glad that they have met him. All have qualities that would make them a good leader, but which, the king muses, should wear the crown. Finally, the king comes up with a challenge: whichever son can fill up a little room completely - from floor to ceiling, and from wall to wall - that is the one the king will make ruler of the kingdom. The eldest son, though he brings bags and bags of gold, cannot fill the room. The middle son, comes with his crops, but he cannot fill the room either. Finally, the youngest son comes, and from a small pocket, he pulls out a candle, that lights up the entire room - from floor to ceiling, and from wall to wall - and it is he who becomes king. What I love about this story, is that it is one that can be as short as I need it to be, or as long - if I do, what I have soooooooooooooo come to love, and ask the audience it's opinion. During my time in Argentina, I played the role of king, wandering into the audience asking which son I should pick, three or sometimes four times a day. Some audiences were split, calling for the "business man" as much as for the "farmer". Some only wanted, the third son, who I sometimes nicknamed in my telling "the popular guy". Then, right before the youngest son (popular guy) revealed what he had in his pocket to fill the room, I paused and asked the students what they thought. And, that was my favorite part!!! Here are some answers I have heard: flashlight, i-pod, cellphone, music, invitation to a party, balloons, air, nothing, a bomb, a gun (these last two were from the same school - a bit disturbing!), matches, one of those inflatable bouncey castles they have at fairs, glitter, bubbles, a lantern, laughter, love, joy. I have gotten candle right off the bat, and yesterday, at the science camp I was performing at (back here in USA), I got dry ice, and a mini fog machine!! What I also love about this story, is that I can really tailor it to any age, I have told this tale to 8 year olds, all the way up to adults. But, what is most fascinating about this story to me, is the way it came into my life. From time to time, I get "requests" - asking me if I can learn a particular tale for a special event. This is always a tricky affair for me, because, generally, as a teller, I try to only tell stories I LOVE. Since these stories are going to be living in my head, inhabiting my body, I try, much like one tries to only put good food in one's mouth, to only pick tales that touch me in some way, make me laugh, make me think, make me WANT to express it in my own way - plus, as my mother would be happy to tell you, I don't like being told what to do!! So two years ago, when I was approached by a school to tell stores about light for their Winter's Solstice, I was happy to do so - I had some tales I already tell that would fit, and I knew a few others, I have on my list to work on (I don't know if all storytellers do this, but I have this sort of "wish list" of stories, that I am forever working my way down, of stories that I have read and fallen in love with, and want to work up for performance - it's endless, and I LOVE that!!) But, just as I was merrily on my way to type up their contract, the woman who was organizing the event said, "And there's this story, that we REALLY NEED you to tell." She didn't know anything about it, except she thought it was African, and they needed me to tell it last, so that then they would all light candles for a sing-along. I have to admit, that at first glance, I did not fall in love with this tale - but, sometimes, a gig is a gig, and so I worked it up the story, and arrived at the school. The moment I got there, I knew I was in for it. All the elements that I ask not to have nearby if someone asks me to tell at a party, were there in full force - tables of sugary food, right next to where I was to be, balloons, and other (really beautiful, and touchable decorations), music from another room's art fair, low lights, a barely working mike, a room packed with sugared up children, and adults holding baby quiches and wine - OH, OH!!! I got the music turned off, some of the food moved, asked the kids to come forward, and the adults to hang back, and I started. It was no picnic - you can hide cookies, but it they are good - and these were, the scent hangs in the air, so the kids wanted them, and walked across my "stage" to get them, the microphone seemed like it to was ready for winter break, and the voices from every other room in that school seemed to be travelling in my direction. I slogged on, because, frankly, I didn't have a choice. And then, finally, I got to the end, and told the requested story - my contact beamed with joy, as she physically "shushed" everyone living being in the room - so I had blissful silence for this tale. She was anxious to get to the candle lighting, so I did not "extend" the story, I told it simply, and I could feel my heart, begin to turn in the story's direction. As I left, it was the memory of those last minutes, of the word light, and of the glowing candle-lit faces in the room. I put that story away for a long time - I figured it was a "one off" - learned for just that occasion, but then one day, half way through telling one story - it popped into my brain, and it was the next story to pop out of my mouth. This time I had the luxury of being able to inquire as to what the kids thought might be in the youngest sons pocket, and as I saw those hands shoot up, ramrod straight, and the cry of "OOh!! OOOH, I know!!" I began to see the beauty of this tale, and it climbed onto my "A-list". In Argentina, it became a "go-to" story for me. The premise simple enough, that with just a little bit of change in my vocabulary, I could make even the less advanced English speakers (and there were not many) understand the king's dilemma. And, oh, how once the ball got rolling in terms of ideas, it just didn't stop. Seeing the joy in the faces of the kids as they answered, filled me with something one kid suggested - DELIGHT! Yesterday, back home in NYC, I saw the same joyful raising of hands, heard that squeal of excitement that seems to leave our bodies at age 12 or so, and I was so thankful for that crazy gig, that started off with so many challenges but, ultimately, gave me a gift that fills me with LIGHT!!