The Ebb and Flow

Coming back from seeing my psychiatrist in Palo Alto, my wonderful fairy godmother of sanity and deep wisdom, I find myself on the bus towards Santa Cruz from someone in the Thursday night African dance class, that I no longer can attend for personal
reasons.  I have come to the place where I am letting that all go.  J. asked me when I would be back to that class, and I said I did not know.  She said that the class is getting smaller and smaller.  I was not happy to hear that, but I also was not sad.  Maybe the teacher will decide to retire at some point and the class will be no more.  Just as I was not sad to see the Capitola Book Cafe go, for the same personal reasons, I would not be sad to learn that the Thursday night class is no more.  I know many people love that class, but when something eats at a foundation, things cannot sustain.  I do know that classes are ebb and flow, and perhaps hers will pick up again.  I was getting the sense from the teacher that her time as a dance instructor was starting to end and perhaps she will embrace the dwindling of her student population as a sign to bring this class to conclusion.


My Haitian dance class, on the other hand, is so full people can hardly fit on the floor and we are gettin  drummers, guest teachers from Haiti, etc.  S. has his own dance company now also.  I feel good about that because S. is the finest and most honest dance teacher I know, apart from my troupe leader, and has taught me how to truly put my heart in the dance. He deserves to have wonderful things happen for him: he also does not tolerate anyone who makes his classroom environment feel unsafe.

Is it bitter for me to write about such things?  Probably--but this is a world in which women are not safe.  To pay money for a class and then feel so unsafe that you never go back (I have a $75 class card in the Thursday class that I cannot use now) is emblematic of the way people try to instill such fear in women that we hide.  I am done with hiding, and I will not be sad to watch some icons of the past crumble.  Impermanence is the emperor of existence: it all goes at some point.  The trick is to be able to ride that wave and not fear...and not be afraid of the power of intention to create ripples of change.