Dancing

We went to the public Imbolc celebration held today by the Druid group I used to be involved in. The universe was watching out for me when I decided to go to today's ritual. My primary reason for going was because we are talking about different ways of doing liturgy in the worship class I'm taking at West Shore UU, part of my commitment as a Worship Associate there, and I am fascinated by ways to bring new vitality to West Shore's Sunday services and so I committed to going to this rite to reconnect and see what inspiration might strike for overlap of ideas, even though it's a lot of energy to keep a toddler away from the fires that are a central component of Pagan/Druidic worship and Imbolc, being a Celt-centric holy day and me not being much in the way of Celtic in my leanings, isn't really "my" holiday, and I was a bit grumbly about missing out on celebrating Chinese New Year with friends today in order to go to the ritual.

Not long after arriving at the site, I learned that the woman who first introduced me to the basics of belly dancing (isolations and some of the hip movements) died on Tuesday. The memorial service was yesterday.

She wasn't much older than my mother, but somehow I always had a bit more of a grandmotherly vibe from her. I'd lost touch with her over the years (especially since I completely suck at keeping in touch with people - major flaw of mine). I'd just been thinking about her yesterday as I finally got round to unpacking my altar/meditation gear and setting it up. I came across a shell bracelet she gave me about a decade ago, symbols of the sacred feminine that I'd put on while meditating occasionally and wore when I was inviting the universe to send a child to my womb (not knowing I'd already concieved Liam at that point!).

She never saw me dance.

I don't think she met Liam (my brain is a little numb right now, I can't remember if she was at this past Beltaine, which was the only other Pagan rite we'd taken Liam to so far).

I ache, but yet I don't think I can cry for her - she was such a joyful person with a purely infectious laugh that it doesn't seem right to cry over the loss of her.

As much as Unitarian Universalism is my "every week" religion, I don't feel that I can mourn her properly in that setting (even if our congregation did candles of joy and concern like our old congregation did). Part of the liturgy of Stone Creed Grove, ADF is a section called "Praise Offerings" in which the assembled folk make offerings of themselves to the gods by doing such things as singing, reciting poetry, pouring ale, etc.

I Danced for her.

This may seem like not so much of a big deal, but it was only the second time in my life that I've intentionally (belly/Oriental-style/whatever) danced in front of other people, and the first time that I've really Danced in the presence of other living beings outside my family. The first time I danced publically was 3 weeks before Liam was born, at the request of my belly dance instructor in Virginia as part of the yearly recital. That was a planned, correographed, confined dance. Today was not. Today, for the first time in my life, I intentionally Danced in front of strangers. I poured out my love for her into every sinew of my body, Dancing barefoot on cold concrete between flames, clockwise around the sacred space created for the rite. It was a wild Dance that I could not predict from second to second, movement with a mind of its own. It was completely unself-conscious and socially isolated in a way my extroversion usually blocks. It was Life celebrating Life, and it was different than anything I'd ever done before.

Dance is a central part of my private relationship with the divine. I Dance alone, now sometimes with Liam, on a pretty regular basis. It's how I meditate and connect with my center, in a way that sitting quietly or listening to music has never worked for me. I Dance for joy, I Dance for dispair, I Dance because I'm alive. I Dance when I'm in physical pain, even when it causes me more physical pain, because sometimes the pain is the most solid reminder of what there is to celebrate about being alive. When I cannot manage to stand to Dance, I Dance on my knees, and when that isn't possible, I sit and Dance with whatever parts of my body will cooperate at the moment. I do not Dance for other people, and will usually stop immediately if someone else enters the room (I may continue dancing, but not Dancing). In the nearly 10 years Garvin and I have been together and the 4 years since I started taking formal lessons, he has chanced to see me dancing, much less Dancing, a handful of times (aside from the social/ballroom dancing we do at weddings and such, of course). Somehow it feels like it loses some of it's sacred nature if I share it more freely. This is one of the VERY few things that I do not do for "extrovert" reasons. I think part of the reason I'm so private about my Dancing has to do with the misconception Westerners have with "belly dancing" = "sexual dancing". Yes, it's a dance of pure earthiness and sensuality, feminine strength and honor, and there is a sexual/fertility vibe there fairly constantly, but it's not about SEX, it's not about inticing another. It's about the divine spark within, truly loving myself at my sacred core, beyond gender and other physical/superficial concepts. This is why I usually Dance with my eyes closed, or at least why I generally refuse to look at other humans (save sometimes my son) while I Dance.

After the ritual ended, several people commented on how much they appreciated my Dancing. I found I really couldn't talk about it much, couldn't find where my own experience of the Dance fit with others perceptions of it. I think this inarticulatable nature of Dancing is part of what calls me (who prides myself on my ability to articulate... at great length) to do it, and why it is such a humbing experience to give myself over to it. I do not take pride in my Dancing. It's something I do because I'm alive. I sense a similar experience in Liam (whose dancing I was aware of by the time I was a little more than midway through my pregnancy, who now gets up and dances any time music becomes audible to him), so maybe in a few years I'll have someone I can talk to about it. Maybe I'll eventually really open up to aquaintances about how profound a part of me Dancing really is and I'll find kindred spirits to share this with, who may be able to give words to the experience better than I feel I can. The walking-with-a-cane thing is probably a bit of a stumbling block to people percieving me as a Dancer, I think - guess it seems a little oxymoronic. Don't know if I really feel the need to share my personal experiences as a Dancer with others outside my family, but somehow, I feel like I *should* be sharing it, since it was shared with me by someone who had no reason but kindness and love to share it.

This is the legacy Elena gave me, unknowing what an enduring and wonderous gift it was she was imparting. This I will share with my own children, in their time, and maybe someday with others, if I can come to terms with how much of the hang-ups listed above are actually my own. From now on, whenever I Dance, some part of me will always Dance in your honor, Elena. I know you're watching and smiling. Join the Dance again when you're ready, dear friend. I love you.