The How Big Is Your Voice Workshop

at Pangea World Theater last night was a primer in Midwestern diversity of descent: Indian, Hmong, Korean, Tibetan, French, Scandinavian, Irish, German. Adoptees, immigrants, American-born kids. Ranging in age from the articulate dancer in her late 20s to the bright self-possessed 11-year old, who arrived three-quarters of the way into the workshop, and was there "because my mother brought me."

It was one of those situations where you look at the group, toss all your prepared material out the window, and ask the gods to show you what you can offer them in the next two hours that will serve them. The gods delivered - I was amazed at how fully they all participated, how deeply they went into the exercises, how many asked at the end when there would be more events like this.

No matter how many workshops I lead, the beauty of people groping down past their fears to find their voices always moves me beyond words. Right now, I seem to encounter a lot of of young men, struggling for authenticity against the straitjacket of hypermasculinity this society imposes on them. Their willingness to be honest, vulnerable, questioning, gives me hope for all of us.

One young man wrote yesterday: "The voice of my culture is a small star, always at my back.

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