Tales from the Dance Jam #8
Well I'll see how I do writing this about 24 hours after the fact. While the aliveness of the dance may not bring forth the prose to which I've grown accustomed in the post-dance bliss, the magick of movement is still in my body, written in beautiful overlays over the genetic code which guides my body through this crazed journey.
Bodies moving, bodies sweating, bodies in meditation, bodies in Breema, in contact, in solitude, expressing the joys of existence manifesting with unbridled ecstacy pouring. What is it about this healing temple that draws us all back? Logic and reason break down in the first attempt to answer. Drawing us deeper into the caverns of soulforce, musicmaking, whirlaround, connection, hearts open, we return to the floor and call on calories to keep us moving. When we can move no more, we have luscious pillows and people to lay upon, to rest our heads.
Many times during the night I felt emotions well up, and the natural response was to release them into movement, to throw my hands out, let arms flail, whirl as a dervish into a single moment, and single activity; if I get caught in concepts and judgments, or otherwise am not fully participating in breathing and knowing my body has weight on the ground, spinning with the solidity of its gravity center, I fall down. I almost fall anyway from the whirlwind ecstacy, but I let the emotion rise and cleanse without effort. At least this is the aim, I haven't perfected it yet! Goddess only knows what kind of old unwanted shit is clinging to this personality. Gotta come out of it and dance. It's like going to church, but without the dogma. It's my church, church of shaggy, I am the central expression of the divine, my own universe. But without ego or, really, any notion of this "shaggy." And I come into direct contact with others - even if only for a brief second - and we recognize the mutual nature of our divinity.
Last night was much less crowded than I remember, for it's been over a month since I've gone. The "warm room" was again open, and I could hear Astarius and his enormous didjeridu sound-healing the room and everyone in it before I even got to the door. The pulse of his continuous, circular vibration had the rafters vibrating. And he would bring it down and launch into the nether-realms with his flowing, well-crafted, heart- centered poetry. By night's end, he had whole groups circled around him adoringly, taking in his love, transforming it into wings of doves, butterflies, and spring flowers, and returning them to him in offering. And he was grateful for it. So were we. Then about five minutes of silence, and many minutes of humming, OM, sounding, and vibration.
Off again to the main floor, where Mika was sending out the rhythms of the world over the loudspeakers. Lots of room to move, what a blessing! A few juicy contacts with Zahara, whom I was delighted to see, and some really wild and fun improv with Johanna, who returns today to Finland. Miss you already! Nari and Paul are back from Thailand and Nepal, seeming quite changed, still digesting their amazing and challenging experiences. Nari is practicing Thai massage now, I sure hope we arrange a bodywork trade soon!!
Somewhere in there, to rather pulsating music, I gave Johanna a sitting Breema treatment in the middle of the dance floor, which was incredible. I found myself practically doing a headstand using her back and thighs. I felt myself call everyone in the room into our moment and into our treatment, all included, all participating. Some watched and wondered, most did not care. That's the beauty here, everyone learns from everyone else, no judgment is expressed, and you can get away with just about anything so long as it harm none. People will either ignore or support you, it's just like that.
Did I talk about the men yet? Oh no, guess not. I try to keep them in a place of non-frustration. For there were too many longhaired hot men to count! One can never determine orientation there, and the ambiguity is as thick as a tropical forest. Beautiful, but often unnavigable. And in that space, for me, a place I don't often tread. I was able to see some of my own fears and reservations, and called in deities to be with me in that exploration, to guide me in relaxing those boundaries and insecurities where possible. So I talked to none of them, really. For all my looks and glances and opening myself to the space of the dance, none of them were returned. Especially not from the long, dark-haired, well-built, lightly-haired chest, yummy love trail (put that shirt back on, or else come with me!), hemp choker, mysterious eyes, free-form grooving and moving.. ahh! So my obervations themselves become food, nourishing the desire for my longhaired earth-brother. Not the complete fulfillment of desires emanating from the core of my being, but a gentle reminder of my journey toward soul-connection.
Hair hair hair... hot men in amazing contact jams, the brother in flowery pants and a tight shirt getting down and expressing the vitality which the universe offers to us moment after moment. Watching the tall slender boy engage Zahara (hmmm) then go off by himself to dance with the fairies and muses.. beautiful and expressive, and by hearing him speak and watching him dance I think he may be queer. But not once did I sense him paying any attention to me.. in the spirit of the dance, and in accord with a Breema principle (which I need to work more with), he was doing it all for himself. He had nothing to hide, but also nothing to prove. God works in mysterious ways, and it's all wonderful.
composed by Shaggy
(posted on 4/2/00)