freedom danced

It was Sunday night of Buenos Aires Blues. I went into the weekend with not so great an attitude, bummed because I wasn't in San Francisco or D.C. But it had been a great weekend, far better than I anticipated. There had been loads of people and a dog filling up my house: cooking bustling, napping, showering, listening to music, talking: truly this is one of my greatest joys, to be surrounded by people. It fills me up like nothing else does.

But despite the fantastic-ness of the dance weekend, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do Sunday night, whether to stay or leave. I didn't feel pulled by the dancing. I was there with someone I was dating and for whom I had suddenly lost feelings; that threw me for a loop. I just felt... odd, off. I enjoy the challenge of dancing tango, of combining that with blues dancing, of figuring out on the spot what to do, refining this and that, taking mental and physical notes constantly... but I also needed a little comfort. I'd been looking for a certain kind of blues dance all weekend and not found it- still haven't. It's the kind of blues dance I would have surely found at bluesSHOUT, a dance that's just at home- slow, comfortable, where you hold each other for nearly the whole song and it's not creepy, a dance where I don't have to guess and everything's taken care of. Lately my cup of leading overfloweth; my following cup, not so much. That takes its toll after a while.

I was in the midst of my "do I stay or do I go" crisis. This is usually where I allow the music to influence me, and I was indeed doomed: Heather was DJing. Heather and I... we have a very similar taste in music. Hers is much broader than mine, but still- she knows. Sometimes I think she watches me to see my reaction because she knows.

And once again, she just knew. It's a song we both adore, a version of "Ain't No Sunshine When He's Gone" by Ladysmith Black Mambazo and a woman who I don't know singing lead vocals. I do a lot of solo dancing, mostly because the music moves me, and I move, and I don't know how all those people are just sitting. Sometimes I am asked to dance in the middle of my solo dancing, and I really want to dance with someone; sometimes I don't, but I usually accept anyway. This dance, that night it was clear - I was creating and expressing, and my solo dancing was to be watched and taken in. I was dancing solo. It was firmly in the contract for that moment.

I'm not sure how to describe it except to say that there was a wave coming, and I caught it and solidly rode it all the way in, no questions asked. Normally my dancing comes from a deep appreciation, a feeling with. I tend to be very expressive. The most common compliment I receive is, "I love to watch you dance!" Sometimes my dancing comes straight from my heart. This particular dance came from my body, my heart, my guts, my womb. It was visceral. It was deeper yet than any dance I have had. I was able to taste and experience and flow with the freedom that it's possible for me to live inside of all the time. It was the only experience in my memory where I was completely unabashed and unashamed in my expression.

And I felt it! I am not broken- I can feel. And it just poured out of me, and I enjoyed it. At different times during that dance, I felt that my emotions were being wrung out of me; I welcomed it. The singer sings in a way that you just feel the ache, and there's Ladysmith Black Mambazo continuously singing this plaintive Zulu refrain, and it just hurt, and I let it. This may surprise a lot of you who know me, especially if you watch me dance, but the truth is that it's incredibly difficult for me to acknowledge or register, let alone feel my feelings, anywhere at any time. But to give them full, honest expression? For me, this is entirely unheard of. Until now. And to know that it can feel that amazing to be swept up in that freedom makes me want it so much more.

The thing is, this is what I've always been afraid of. I would sit in church barely 6 years old and feel God tug at my heart and resist that persistent tug with all my might because my biggest fear was that people would look at me. Surely if I did something, people would look. And to me, as a child, that was the biggest evil. I've gotten over that to some degree, but there are more kinks to work out.

Later I described my experience of the visceral quality of the dance to Heather, complete with gestures and funny noises to make sure she really got what I was saying and where it came from. She had earlier remarked on the end of the dance from her vantage point of the DJ table and said it was funny because my body arced, my hair flew, and then I disappeared- I ended in a deep lunge that took me out of her sight. But I was curious if there was something different, and she's seen me dance a million times, so I thought I'd ask. She said that I danced as if I were completely free, and it was amazing.

Yes. Yes, I did.

YES.