Being Susan . . .
Susan was one of those seminal people in my life who called me forth, pushed my edges, and challenged my comfort zone. I imagine a lot of people felt this way about her.
We both arrived in Boulder in the fall of 1979 to begin teaching at Naropa. During the early years of our friendship our conversations often felt like a tennis match with her sharp insightful mind sending fast balls flying over the net and me staggering around in the middle of the court with no racket, helpless and confused. But over the years of our Naropa collaborations I learned how to hold my own, how to pick up that racket and hit the ball back with love and force. I learned how to stay in the game with her. This is all Susan ever wanted from the world. In spite all her intensity, of being "too much", she deeply loved, applauded and appreciated anyone who kept sending the ball back to her, staying in dialogue. It is a deep happiness for me that we kept our alive connection all these years. The conversation was never boring . . .
During those years that we performed together and co-directed the Naropa Book Arts program Susan was the visionary, the one who held the big "heaven" view, the one who got everyone laughing. I was the detail person, the straight man to her jokes, the "earth" principle, attending to the practicalities of planning and counting, cutting and measuring. Eventually I rebelled against this role and we fought our way through to a new relationship--a fierce love and respect fueling our way.
Those early Naropa years stirred and cooked up so much nourishment. We were exploring language and imagery, calligraphy and culture, ancient wisdom and spontaneous insight. Susan was my partner in this process--my "worthy opponent" at times. Today I am still shaping and articulating the rich material unearthed in our chaotic, lively collaborations.
At one point during this period Susan remarked to me, "Why are you still writing out other people's words? It's time to let your own voice come forth. "I felt irritated and misunderstood by her at the time, but deep inside I knew she was right and I soon began to uncover my writing voice.
The last time we spoke the conversation was long and deep, leaping around with a lot of laughter and wild pronouncements about our lives. I always felt such a fundamental support from her. Talking with her I trusted myself more. But eventually, as always happened, I had to end the conversation, probably before she was ready. I was full up, couldn't take in anymore, had to catch my breath. She knew she was too much, but she couldn't help pushing the boundaries. It was an expression of her sadness and her courage that she just kept being her intense outrageous insightful self. And this is what I so deeply loved about her, and will so fiercely miss.
Barbara Bash
We both arrived in Boulder in the fall of 1979 to begin teaching at Naropa. During the early years of our friendship our conversations often felt like a tennis match with her sharp insightful mind sending fast balls flying over the net and me staggering around in the middle of the court with no racket, helpless and confused. But over the years of our Naropa collaborations I learned how to hold my own, how to pick up that racket and hit the ball back with love and force. I learned how to stay in the game with her. This is all Susan ever wanted from the world. In spite all her intensity, of being "too much", she deeply loved, applauded and appreciated anyone who kept sending the ball back to her, staying in dialogue. It is a deep happiness for me that we kept our alive connection all these years. The conversation was never boring . . .
During those years that we performed together and co-directed the Naropa Book Arts program Susan was the visionary, the one who held the big "heaven" view, the one who got everyone laughing. I was the detail person, the straight man to her jokes, the "earth" principle, attending to the practicalities of planning and counting, cutting and measuring. Eventually I rebelled against this role and we fought our way through to a new relationship--a fierce love and respect fueling our way.
Those early Naropa years stirred and cooked up so much nourishment. We were exploring language and imagery, calligraphy and culture, ancient wisdom and spontaneous insight. Susan was my partner in this process--my "worthy opponent" at times. Today I am still shaping and articulating the rich material unearthed in our chaotic, lively collaborations.
At one point during this period Susan remarked to me, "Why are you still writing out other people's words? It's time to let your own voice come forth. "I felt irritated and misunderstood by her at the time, but deep inside I knew she was right and I soon began to uncover my writing voice.
The last time we spoke the conversation was long and deep, leaping around with a lot of laughter and wild pronouncements about our lives. I always felt such a fundamental support from her. Talking with her I trusted myself more. But eventually, as always happened, I had to end the conversation, probably before she was ready. I was full up, couldn't take in anymore, had to catch my breath. She knew she was too much, but she couldn't help pushing the boundaries. It was an expression of her sadness and her courage that she just kept being her intense outrageous insightful self. And this is what I so deeply loved about her, and will so fiercely miss.
Barbara Bash
posted by Chronicles of CTR at 8:44 PM
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