My very first Blog

I guess for my very first Blog, not to mention the first time I’ve published something on the Internet, as well as, going to co-author a soon to follow self published book; I would like to introduce myself. I am, I am being, and I would like to become - Darren Dos Santos!
I have been working (maybe try not use the word “working”), thinking, acting and co- creating with Alvin (the creator of this site), Christian, and Marylene to get Soul Acrobatics established. Over the previous four months together, we have been collecting, rationalizing and filtering the experiences, perceptions, people, decisions, directions and time so that we may define what it means to be a “Soul Acrobat”. Trying to collect our truth and how we view the world; I guess “our world”. We would like to share it, and build on it.
(Side note on the chosen word “filtering” – filter all the abundance of time, experience, words, needs, wants, good, bad, indifference, ect…. , so that we can build our ideas and metaphors for Soul Acrobatics)
I’ll try introduce my writing, which is an extension of my fingers, my hands, my arms, all the way up to my brain, then my thoughts, then even further to my mind, and then from there I get a bit lost (but always questioning). So in essence my writing is my thoughts, so we can assume; so is most other things? (Although my knowledge of writing, and words I feel in general are limited to be able get some points across). I seem to write with a lot of questions. Almost conversational - within myself, within the writing itself (the words) and you the reader (the co-creator of these words).
My purpose – well lots – but firstly, to simply -- think – (you included)
(The paradox in that; simply – to think – Hmm??)
I would like you the co-creator to try and read in the first person, meaning to ask yourself the questions, try and answer them, right them down, ask someone else, save the question(s), (see how answers differ or if they’re the same).
Chances are, more times than not, your going to say that’s impossible, or there’s no way, or it doesn’t exist, or that’s bulls*!t, (trying not to offend anyone). If you say any of those words, - it becomes truth – your truth! – it’s identifying your truth with others that seems to be the tricky part. For instance --- I can do a trick (acrobatically) it might seem impossible at the time to the person I’m teaching! So the question is; how is it translated in time, experience, understanding, knowledge and feeling, so in those moments we rationalize, we experience, we know, we feel? Will it then be possible?
I will try to be grammatically correct, spelling and such, but sometimes I can’t seem to get my point across using the boundaries that are set forth. Sometimes it might be difficult to decipher the codes, the extreme levels that I sometimes talk or write in. So I will need feedback, or if misunderstood please ask, please enlightening me. However, I do my very best, as in life, to be very aware, or better yet conscious of what I write, the words, and the spelling I use (however, there are glitches, and I’m not the best speller, hence the reason for writing things like this and our book. (Always trying to acquire more knowledge and wisdom). There is always purpose, and reasoning in what ever we do! (Remember to read in first person – “we” – meaning you too).

Darren

Motorcycles and Heroes

I am on my way to a cafe, on my preferred mode of transportation, my red 1991 Kawasaki motorcycle. I am weaving through some residential side streets when I pass a couple kids playing on the sidewalk. One of the boys looks up at me with a devilish grin, pretends to grip handlebars, and revs his imaginary engine, probably a two-cylinder monster Harley low-rider. I cruise past, smiling at him, lifting a hand high enough to christen him with a peace sign. He smiles back, a knowing look, the kind of unsaid admiration that at the same time pays respect and tells me one day he'll be the guy on the bike.

I don't know how many times that moment has repeated itself over the 8 years I've driven my bike. It is almost as if little boys have genes programmed to detect loud, exhaust-spewing, two-wheeled cruisers; they'll spot it from anywhere, craning their necks to grasp one more look at my bike as they're pulled away by their parents, or whisked away in a car. There is something deep and meaningful in those looks that signify much more than a casual interest, a transitory whim. There is a desire to become greater, better, stronger, to ride faster than the wind, and to rise above all mundane constraints.

It makes me think of how all little boys and girls need heroes. They need them like they need jam with their peanut butter sandwich or Kool-Aid with their snack. It is as palpable as the sensations of thirst, hunger, or sleep. I remember how I spent the better part of my childhood in an imaginary world where secret agents, raging dinosaurs, and evil sidekicks lurked around every corner, hidden in the deep recesses of my basement, probably somewhere between the furnace and my dad's toolbox. But no matter who the bad guy was that day, I was the hero, wielding sticks for swords, towels for capes, and boldly leaping into the heat of action. I was invincible.

I wonder how much my fascination with superheroes lead me to become a circus artist today. By almost every definition of a superhero, I am one. I wear tights (don't get the wrong idea), don a secret identity (my parents can't even find me onstage), and execute beyond-human feats of acrobatic prowess. And, just like superheroes, acrobats fall down, get hurt, suffer the sting of hubris, and learn to gather strength to try again.

After 12 years of the circus life however, I am convinced that being a hero is much more than proving how high you can jump or how many flips you can do. That initial fascination with pushing human boundaries has metamorphosed into a desire to pushing the limits within, to stretch the impossible that shackles the soul, the heart. The same constraints that prevent an acrobat from executing some crazy maneuver - things like gravity, power, and physics - also lock down the acrobat inside. I have a part of my soul that seeks to see things from different perspectives, be it the way I construct my company or how I deal with a long distance relationship, and the gravity of the situation is as real as the 9.81m/s2 that sucks my body to the floor when I miss a flip.

Acrobatics is about developing awareness, a finely tuned third eye that knows when your right big toe is not pointed, when your arm is extended at 93 degrees and not at a right angle, or when you're about to under-rotate, so you better crank that last spin and open quick enough to land on your feet. So it is too, I believe, with the evolution of the soul. We create larger and deeper receivers to hear the subtle nuances and messages the universe is trying to send us. There is no easy path to awareness, inner or outer, only practice, honest self-critique, and a willingness to do it again and again.

I am past the kid on the sidewalk, whom I will probably never see again. It is a fleeting moment in time, but the knowing glance he gave me tells me that he is a superhero in his own right. He has a path, a mission, and the imagination to get there. I secretly wish him well, and send him a silent warning of the challenges and bridges to cross on his way to slay the dragons. The only difference is, the day he crosses that bridge, it will probably be on a Harley.

-Alvin.

The Sound of Silence Part III

There is something very awful about having to extend your number when you've already been on stage for two-and-half minutes. It's like telling a sprinter at the finish line to run another 400 feet. It's like finishing school and then coming back for summer classes. There is an endless, monotonous, sinking quality about dragging your body through more of what you didn't expect. Seconds stand still, minutes turn into hours. Time really is relative.

I go through the motions, and complete my choreography. The music signals that I have another two minutes to kill on stage, with not a shred of planned routine left in me. That's when I go into "artist overdrive" which is to say my autonomic nervous system takes over and I spontaneously begin to flail in all sorts of interesting shapes. This is improvising without a clue of what to do.

I run forward, arms wide open. I wave, spin, jump. The audience is watching every move. Sixty seconds left - what else to do? I throw a flip, another one. Fifty seconds. I smile a knowing smile without knowing that I am about to throw my most dangerous move.

In an astonishing burst of speed, I sprint towards the pole and begin climbing. My forearms burn with thick lava coursing through burgeoned arteries. I am tired. I am dizzy. But I keep climbing.

At the top I pause long enough to ask myself, "what the hell am I doing here?" and then my awareness snaps back to the building crescendo of the music. Almost over! I knew that I had to deliver - this was the punch, the climax, the grand celebration of my marathon number, and I still had an audience to impress. I had one last move in my bag of tricks and this was the moment to scour my weary body for its last ounce of courage.

It was a move that I had only done in practice - once. I do a shoulder plank at the top of the pole, throw myself into a 3/4 back flip, freefall twenty feet down, and squeeze the pole with my legs and arms to stop at the very last minute. It worked - once.

I ready myself and extend my body into the plank, arms shaking, shoulder aching, muscles screaming. But I am in a zen moment. A funny state takes me over, the kind of calmness and confidence that rises from deep within when you know something big is on the line. There is no audience, there is no music, there is no you. There is only the action at hand, and your total immersion within the moment.

I cast myself backwards, feeling the pull of gravity already tugging me with her tentacles, sucking me rapidly to the hard stage. The music is on its last notes. I am moments from hitting the bottom. Legs tighten, arms straighten, muscles engage. Three feet, two feet, one foot. I stop with six inches between me and the floor. The final note bursts out of the loudspeakers with climactic flair. I am done. I made it. I survived.

I learn two things that day. One: never restart your music from the beginning. And two: I have deeper resources within than I ever thought possible.

- Alvin.

The Sound of Silence Part II

My good friend Darren likes to quote Einstein alot, he's says, "Time is relative." He's right - both of them. There is nothing that can better describe eternity than being on top of a 20-foot pole, sweaty and fatigued, listening to the faint hiss of speakers that should normally be blasting "Carmen". I am dumbfounded. I feel the audience's expectant eyes rivet on me, tracing my outline, guessing at my next move. Even the spotlight seems to grow brighter. Damn pressure, the show must go on, and so I do. I go on.

I slide back down, I climb back up. I do everything I would do if there was music. It's like a funny pantomime - this nervous performer parading and gesticulating, pretending that all is in order, but really the world has just collapsed. It's the moment when you ask a girl for her number, and she hesitates. It's the moment when you see the swerving car, and you step on the brakes. It's the moment you have two thousand people watching you, and you can hear the lady in row ZZ, second balcony, clear her throat. I go on because I have to. I go on because I don't know what else to do.

Then, as if God himself had descended and handed me heaven itself, my music comes boldly rushing back through the speakers. It's like the saying, "you don't know what you have until it's gone". Whereas a moment before, this music sounded like heavy machinery excavating a coal mine, it was now the voice of angels, a thousand harps playing to lift me from my silent sentence. I am saved and overjoyed.

Until I realize that they started my music from the very beginning.

... to be continued...

The Sound of Silence Part I

It's been three months since I started the tour. I'm exhausted. I've seen countless hotels, buses, airports. The troupe is starting to get on my nerves - I'm probably getting on theirs'. The days blur past, time stands still. Here I am again, pulling the last reserve of flashy smile before an audience in Some Town, Some State. I'm leaning against a 20-foot vertical pole, just me in the spotlight, the rest of the troupe sparsely decorated at the edges feigning interest. A tinny classical piece is blaring, the annoying kind that grates across ear drums with repetitive harshness. That's the music for my choreography.

My cue is up, I start climbing up the pole, and wave at the top. The first minute passes in an unconscious haze, the aches in my body speaking louder than the pattered applause. I invert myself and drop in a rapid slide. A few "ooohs" and "aaahs" cut through the jarring cacophony of the music; I keep on truckin'. My body reflexively jerks this way and that, conditioned to the countless routines it's executed. Hand over hand, I find myself back at the top, ready for my next trick, a horizontal shoulder plank. I wait for the musical cue.

It never comes.

...to be continued...

The Innate Ways of Nature

Epiphanies can come from anywhere, nature being one of the best sources. A ladybug landed on my hand while I was walking to the store yesterday. What was interesting was that no matter which way I tilted my hand, the ladybug always changed direction and crawled towards the top. When it got to the tip of my finger, it spread its wings and flew off.

This little insect's behavior made me think of how all nature strives upwards. Trees break through the forest canopy, flowers open to the sun, and vines crawl up a wall. It made me realize that human beings do the same thing too - aim for the top.

Deep down, even if it's not always apparent, I believe that we constantly strive for our best and look for challenge. Sometimes it is asked, how do I continue to grow? I wonder if that really is the question because inside we are naturally wired to evolve, without any deliberate decision to make it so. Just like breathing or digestion happens on its own, there is an innate impulse to seek growth in all areas of our lives; physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The deception arises when things don't move forward in our lives and we blame our inadequacy or lack of drive for the undesirable circumstances surrounding us.

We might look instead at the things that block our innate flow of growth. Rather than ask the question, "Why am I so apathetic and unmotivated?", we should ask, "What are the blocks to my natural impulse for growth?" At first, it seems like both questions lead to the same answer, but for one difference. The second question presumes that the desire to grow already exists and instead focuses your task on accepting or removing blocks to that evolution.

This is why I do not necessarily believe that people need to be motivated. Given the right direction and tools to undo the obstacles to arrive at a goal, people naturally become very enthusiastic and excited to apply themselves. One definition of application is "The act of putting something to a special use or purpose." Therefore, when you have a purpose, tools to get there, and a way to undo or accept blocks as you progress, motivation naturally springs upwards from a deep and inexhaustible well.

- Alvin

Outside In

We are often told that our inside determines the outside - that thoughts create our actions, our actions create our reality. I believe this is true but the other half of the equation is also missing. The outside - our physiology - can shape our inside as well.

The body is like a fine musical instrument and we have the pleasure of playing anything we want through it - any style, be it rock, classical or thrash. Our created reality is the style we choose, our unique signature, our essential imprint on the world. What's interesting though is that if your instrument (you) is not in tune or is bent out of shape, the fullness of your expression will be distorted and diffused.

Our bodies are able to shape themselves into the form we want them to. It's like having a magical musical instrument that can emulate a guitar, piano, flute or violin at will. Similarly our physiology transforms to allow us to communicate happiness, sadness, anger, love.

The role of an acrobat is just that - to adapt, transmute and create forms that allow the greatest expression of the moment via this organic instrument. So even if you are not executing triple twists, you are still acrobatic as you discover ways to express your present elan, or impulse. This is the essence of Soul Acrobatics.

What is curious is that we can shape our bodies to change how we feel and think inside. The street is two-way; the lifting of the chest, the relaxing of the shoulders, the straightening of the spine all influence our thoughts, just as thoughts determine our outward physiology. So the next time you feel afraid, or lack confidence, remember to not only drive your thoughts into your body, but to push your body into your thoughts.

Be aware to not fake your physical presence however and confuse it with genuine solidity. Only by focusing your attention on your physicality as you change it will bring about a deep conviction and sincere state of mind. "Thinking" of how tough you are as you puff out your chest is a sure road to self-trickery and constant disillusion.

So allow the traffic to run both ways on the road. Harness the power of choice by making conscious thought a seed for your desired reality. At the same time, master the body's ability to transform itself to inspire the thoughts and emotions that create the state of mind you want. Either way, the purpose is to express yourself whether you play the instrument or the instrument plays you.

- Alvin

Extreme Balance

I was in a yoga class today when the idea of going to extremes to find your center hit me. Actually I was trying to hold a move - the instructor said, "20 seconds" - and I thought my legs would give out before it was up. Then I played a little mental trick and told myself that the move would last 40 seconds. My body calmed and I finished the standing asana easily.

It's not a new idea to give yourself a goal further than where you're aiming in order to achieve that goal (make sense?). But it's an application that we forget sometimes when we set an objective. It's just like easing up on the throttle right before you cross the finish line. If you picture the end farther than it is, you blaze across the line like there's no tomorrow.

This brings me to balance and overcompensation. It's the same principle at work. If I'm trying to do a back flip, and I constantly veer to one side my task is to redefine my center so that I can flip evenly. The problem is that rediscovering your center is not always about going directly to your center.

Often you have to go farther, past what you think is the center in order to come back to the middle. If I am teaching a student to correct his flip, I will tell him to try to replicate his mistake but on the other side. It's about knowing both extremes in order to know the center.

Imbalance can also be a skewed emotion - full-scale rage or pseudo pacifism, pious rebellion or mindless conformity - where the true state of being lies somewhere in between. A suffocating passiveness may need to be broken with an uncharacteristic burst of defiance. Likewise a raging aggressivity may need to be tempered with a deliberate act of tenderness. Somewhere intersecting the two poles is the appropriate state.

Finally, when you have played both ends of the scale, and know that your natural resting place lies somewhere inbetween, you will be able to visit those extremes when you want to. Anger may be appropriate at times, while acceptance and non-action may be the chosen response at others. Regardless, the key word is choice. We either live at our center, an extreme, or some interval along the way, but we consciously decide to be there.

- Alvin

Passion and Purpose

I met a guy tonight at a business networking event and we talked about finding his purpose. Purpose is one of those elucid, slippery things that get away from you the harder you look for it. I think it is more like oil and water, where you need to let it separate on its own and allow the truth to rise. At the same time you need to ask some hard questions to get the process started like, "what would you do for free?" or "what is your greatest gift to the world?".

We talked a bit about the focus of your work. Sometimes I think people lose their passion for something they used to love doing because the focus or direction of their efforts is misplaced. Like a mechanic with great tools. You've honed your abilities and now you're ready to act. The problem is you hate working on American cars, you prefer to apply yourself to high end sports racers. It would be incorrect to say that you don't like to be a mechanic - you just need to know where to apply yourself.

Like a gift offering, you may have the best, heart-made present, but if you give it someone who cannot or does not appreciate it, you might say that the gift was no good. The truth is you are giving your heart's desire, but the recipient must also open her arms. Know who to give your greatest gifts to.

- Alvin.