When my own dance began, oh, it was hard. I lay on the floor, like a grub. I crawled forward following a line of sun that fell across the floor. I crawled forward and was pulled back, again and again. On I struggled, slipping back, pushing on. I fell off the path. Defeated. I pulled myself with pain, effort back to the track of sun. In the whole dance I made only an inch of progress, until I gave up. Almost by levitation, I felt myself rising. As if strings were attached to my arms and back and head. And those strings were pulled by higher forces and I began to dance like a marionette, shaky and wobbly on the floor. I was uncertain, but felt guided by unseen masters. It was a happier dance than the hard journey on the floor had been. I jumped and writhed and flopped and flounced like a puppet on strings, only I distinctly felt that I was achieving what I most wanted to achieve, and I only achieved it by letting go, and trusting. It was a strange, ecstatic feeling, perhaps like a newly emerged wing-wet butterfly trusting inborn instinct, rising and flying.
I'm writing about last Saturday's dance, 'Honoring Your Feelings, in the DOWH Nourishment series that Erica Ross offers. She is offering the same class this Wednesday evening.
A woman's sanctuary in the heart of Toronto.
Location:Dovercourt House, 3rd floor
At this point in the DOWH session, we were partnered and I was dancing what I was feeling while being witnessed by my partner. It is surprising what insights emerge in dance, isn't it. We bare our souls; we find kinetic metaphors for where we are on our life paths; we move through huge issues, blocks, grief, things that seem immovable. Like many, I couldn't live without dance. On the dance floor we support each other's processes. We give space to our intertwining energies. We enjoy our mutual beauty.
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