Tales from the Dance Jam #16
Tired as I am, I can't help but to sit and write a bit about my experience of the jam. For surely I'll wake up in the morning, hit snooze many times, then emerge into a day of errands, driving, and not into a calm space of writing. This is fresh, this is right... here. Body sits, and types, much the same way that when I stroll across the dance floor, body is moving, and that is all.
Besides, it's been a year since I've last written about my experience inside the sanctuary!
Being present and observing myself. Moving through lots of personal shit. Seeing where the personality plays, and where it is in the background. How does my body move? What is this vehicle I'm in? How are other people manifesting right now? Swirling array of flesh, colours of clothing, textures, jerky movements, slow movements, standing still, running around. People getting down and shaking their asses wildly to some intense beats. Enter the warm room, and the fluidity overtakes you into a mellow deep-space trance of inner silence, beings connecting, beings talking, beings gazing deep into each other's eyes. Children laughing, jumping on a rebounder, or rolling around on inflatable exercise balls. Anything goes, everything is sacred, and when someone stares you down, it's not to impose scathing criticism but to take you in, take an impression of you moving, with a curiosity and fascination so intimate to the way of a child. This is rejuvenation, this is the nurturing of the soul.
I arrive to find a friend working the door shift, and we talk for awhile. I have no rush, and enjoy simply sitting here. This reminds me I am in community.
A woman dances around with two scarves floating gently in circles as her arms move. I am mesmerized as I sit against the wall, my arm upstretched, receiving jewels from heaven. I bring them down and into my body through my eyes, where the hidden wisdom of the cosmos is revealed. Fully satiated from this experience, I hand the transformed orbs back to the sky. She comes to meet me, receive them, my hands throw open in ecstacy. The couple next to me cannot stop smiling, dancing intimately, pure joy.
Is the tattooed boy on the other side of the room looking at me? Is the timeless longhaired boy sitting behind him looking at me? Both inspire my sexual being, and play a bit with my heartstrings. I don't care who or what they're looking at - they are in my view, and I look back with intense interest. Later as I begin to tire, my emotions play tricks. I sit in a room full of beautiful moving beings, and feel all alone. In there is some notion of being lonely, but when I see that for what it is, I see it is not possible to be alone.
Men hugging men hugging women hugging women. People having emotional release. People exploring new aspects of themselves. Check your psychological baggage at the door. You don't need that suitcase where we're going.
I meet a delightful Ukrainian boy who's recently moved here from Israel. We have a nice conversation, except I become nervous at points and either say vague things or look away. He is more present and his gaze is unafraid to meet mine. When I am able to arrive there, his earthen brown eyes are filled with life, mystery, stories, happiness, presence, love. He is beautiful and radiant. He has a somewhat feminine air about him, more as though the male and female within him are active and supporting each other. I also see my strong relationship to longhair active here, and I am utterly blessed to behold this manifestation of God. He is new to this community, finds it quite comfortable, and will return.
Somehow I find new energy, and the music has a driving and bouncy beat. I dance, jerk around, sling my arms and hair, watch myself with detached interest in the big mirror. At some point I am dancing with myself. At another point there is no "myself." The Ukrainian boy has gone, but that has not left a void in the longhaired factor - several attractive longhaired men are here, all expressing themselves in different ways. Some of them come near me, in an almost flirtatious way, but never make any kind of contact. This is all play, this is extremely fun. Beautiful women getting their groove on. I pass by a regular and friend, and we make eye contact, right as she was saying "reggae funk!" That surely described the mood, and made me wiggle my ass all the more.
Another regular dance partner arrives and we have a totally ecstatic dance of whirling and writhing over each other, holding each other's gaze, smiling, and laughing. The beat changes to a Latin percussion groove, and we really work up a sweat. My feet get worn thin by moving so much!
In the large circle, few people make announcements, but I speak up to announce that I'm traveling in Europe for three months. I wish to connect with communities of drummers and dancers, freaks and faeries, renewable energy and bodyworker types, give some bodywork workshops, and sleep on people's sofas. It is healthy for me to formulate this in front of the group, and I get a lot of support for my experience. No one approaches me after the circle, but that's okay. A month ago when I made the same announcement, several people offered tips and pointers. I've now found a dance to attend in Utrecht. The journey itself is the destination, and the preparation process is part of the journey. I take this knowing onto the dance floor and emphatically express it. It's so needed. A long week on the job requires a long sweaty dance. And a life full of ups and downs, trials and tribulations, and heavy weights carried upon it through the years, demands the healing transformation of the mind and feelings through the sweet vehicle of the body, moving, touched by music, inspired by love.
by Shaggy