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Tressa L. Bell

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“In her heart, she carries a river of memories, Those unforgotten years, weaving through time. In her eyes is the light of those unerased days, strong as stars in the sky. When wild winds blow, Wild is she, as memories escort her on the dance floor of meadows. Her songs that touched the earth, are woven from the lyrics of the dust where her loved ones are now asleep. So she carries it, a river of memories, the living walkway, the ripples of light between what once was and what now is.”

“During my studies with the shamans I found that there is a difference between curing and healing. Curing is remedial and involves fixing whatever outer problem arises, such as patching a tire if you have a flat, or treating a snakebite, or using chemotherapy to control a tumor. It does not help you avoid the nails on the road, the snakes in the woods, or the disease that caused the tumor. Healing is broader, more global, and complete. Healing transforms one's life, and often, though not always, produces a physical cure. I have seen many medical cures in which healing did not occur. I have also seen instances in which there was great healing but the patient passed away. Healing results from an experience of infinity. While healing, we measure success by increased well-being, by a sense of newfound peace, empowerment, and a feeling of communion with all life.”

“Look to the mycelial networks beneath the forest floor, the fungal threads that connect plants into a communicating, nourishing community. They are Earth’s ultimate re-memberers. They do not ask the baobab to be strong alone; they weave its roots into the strength of the whole system. Our re-membering must be like this: an underground network of love that defies the solitary struggle the imperial gaze demands.”

“It's unfair." As a rule, life is unfair," I said. Yeah, but I think I did say some awful things." To Dick?" Yeah." I pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and turned off the ignition. "That's just stupid, that kind of thinking," I said, nailing her with my eyes. "Instead of regretting what you did, you could have treated him decently from the beginning. You could've tried to be fair. But you didn't. You don't even have the right to be sorry.”

“With so much success coming so quickly, envy wasn’t far behind. Whispers began to circulate—ugly, baseless rumors that she must have used her beauty to secure big projects. Some claimed she must have done something immoral to catch the attention of Mumbai’s top agencies. What stung most was hearing such things from her own studio colleagues—people who once admired her, who had said they wanted to be like her. So, first thing first, she threw out those people from our circle, from her studio. Nia never let the words take root. They reached her ears, but never her mind. She stayed focused, worked harder, and kept her name clean. Soon, she was counted among a good circle of respected, talented choreographers who valued her dedication, work and decency.”