Tales from the Dance Jam #15
You don't have to be in the temple long to have an ecstatic experience of prayer and thanksgiving. Just a simple gesture, and the gods will hear. A simple twirl and they will enter. The surrender of thought leads to surrender of body and the immanence of divinity explodes to life!
Having gotten home from work on a Friday night at the unholy hour of 9: 30, I had no expectations that I would go to Dance Jam tonight. I was already missing Karl Denson and Railroad Earth (but heavens, not in the same show or same venue!). Drained, I ate too quickly and upset my stomach. But in checking my messages, a dear friend from the north country says he is still in the city and planning to go to the jam. So I now have full intention of going. I don't get there until 11, but it doesn't matter, see previous paragraph.
There were four or five beautiful longhaired men dancing, meditating, and writhing about. I was in ecstacy watching their slender forms express the will of existence, cosmic bliss bouncing light rays off them and into my awestruck eyes. Few of them paid me any mind. I merged into the wall and sat watching a long redhaired boy with a cute, pointed beard writhe in the steaming juices of the gods, dancing feverishly and slinging sweat. One longhaired boy watched another do some vigorous contact improv with a slender, beautiful woman. I watched them both, slithering on the floor and exploring my full range of motion. I watched the longhaired men playing guitars. I watched myself watching them, and giggled spiritually at my watching.
An extremely beautiful lightly redheaded boy expressed himself to the lively tempo of an almost-techno piece - bordering on creating a rave scene but without the proper sound equipment, bass, and volume to pump that beat into the veins. He caught my watching, walked by me, paused while turning away, then made quickly out the door, not to be seen again. The Jam is a weird place that doesn't often lend itself to direct contact, but when it does, it's on a level of heart and pure being, expressive without boundaries or notions of "other." To be so simple, thought must rest. To be wrapped in thought and illusion is to miss the constant rush of cosmic bliss through the temple.
I had an experience of sitting in the back of the "warm room," listening to the really delightful band that was playing, and being moved and touched by the expressions in the room. A woman exploring her body and feelings, going to the borders of the dance floor to experience herself in relation to them, feeling the depths of emotions completely unknown to anyone else but her. A couple does contact. Some is lifting a woman with his feet with stark precision, balance, grace, and exerting subtle movements that expressed a glorious dance. Others roll around on exercise balls. Others are wrapped in conversation. A man and woman are gazing into each other's eyes. He falls backward, she places her hand on his heart and arm, and their energy becomes electric. The longhaired boy falls over onto the pillows and gently closes his eyes. When I was able to let go of thought, labeling, reaction - all of these movements and non-movements in the room touched something in my being. I shuddered - physically - as though unnecessary energy or baggage were being sloughed off. I smiled, I even came almost to the point of tears. I wished to have the freedom of body to cry, to be cradled and held while I cried. And I let go of that wish. And basked in it.
Barely even an hour into my foray into the world of free-form movement, I decided to leave. As the music came up out of a spacey jam into a slightly funky dance beat, melodramatic as I am, I had to parade around the dance floor and twirl and lose myself. After all, the floor had pretty much emptied out and became mine to fill with wild, full movements. And, too, there was a five-piece band starting to rock again, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. I had a couple of moments of thinking that the boy on the pillows was watching me, and began to perform for him. Very quickly I had to let that go, too. Let everything go. None of it is real.
Back to the main studio to see if I can find the pretty redhaired boy. Which one? The one who passed me by. Nowhere in sight, but worth checking, since the other redhaired boy was still pumping his energy through the dance vortex in deep worship of some unseen entity. So all this gave me an excuse to keep on dancing. Until it all became extra, and I began yawning. Being nurtured. Spirit awakened. Time to go home. It struck me then that not only did I not see my friend from up north (very sad experience), but there were very few people that I knew, and connected with no one else on a deep level. The energy of the jam fluctuates from week to week, and even in the hours of the same night. So I was not surprised nor disappointed. I connected deeply with myself, and that is the most I could ever ask for in that space. Everything else is given. I am grateful for it.
Dance free, dance wild, sling your arms and legs and pretend the whole world is watching you and cheering your name. Blessings.
Shaggy, 3/1/02