Guede

Just back from Haitian dance--what a class! I now have a white skirt to wear (a traditional costume for these classes), and it was drenched by the time I was done. We danced in honor of the guede (click on the link to see who they are), the tricky spirits of the afterlife--lots of dancing in a crouch, twirling, moving the hips snakelike in a figure 8 while inching across the floor, tossing the head back and forth as if entranced--and I felt drawn deep into a trance just as the drummers started singing, I forgot to be embarrassed and just moved. I was with the guede and knew each of their names, I tread lightly between my boundary in this world and theirs, as if lightly touching my feet down on either side of a long red ribbon. I looked in the mirror and saw myself writhing like a snake, tossing my head like a horse, sliding back and forth across the floor like a cat, my white skirt like a cloud. If I forget myself, if I let myself be taken by the drums and enter into that space, I am lifted away from my worries and learn not to fear the crossroads of this existence.

What to Do When Disappointed

I had a minor, personal disappointment (nothing to do with books, agents, or writing, just a performance I could not be in)...and so, instead of mulling it over, I went dancing...and not just any dance; I took my first Haitian dance class last night. Click on the link to see my teacher Shawn (underneath the photo of Blanche Brown, with whom I'd also like to study when she comes to Santa Cruz from time to time).

Dear God...I thought I had seen amazing, exquisite dancing in my lifetime. I had only been in the kindergarten of dancing. The instructor is a professional dancer and has literally the most beautiful strength and grace I have ever seen, intimidatingly so, and yet there is something amazingly kind in his personality, so that I was not afraid to stand right next to him and slowly learn. The drummers were absolutely hypnotic, and I felt drawn deep into a place of mystery as I moved along in the beginner's line, something that went beyond time and space, beyond words and thought. There were dancers of all shapes, sizes, and colors, all making an amazing world in that hour and a half.

All the dancers were beautiful and expressive in their own ways, but one woman in particular captivated me. She had to be in her mid-sixties, with white-gray hair cut straight at chin length, extravagant of body, no makeup, in a pair of white tennies, a flouncy, long green patterned skirt, a black shirt like any of my everyday pullover shirts, a gold heart necklace around her neck. This woman danced the intricate turns and motions with a grace that stole my heart forever and shattered every myth of being too old, too ugly, too large, too different, to express the mysteries and the wisdom of the body through dance. Her face--plain by perhaps some of society's standards--was so radiant and so filled with love of the dance, of movement and joy, that it gave me a sense of connection with all the people who are overlooked by the world. Seeing this woman on the street, I might not have guessed what a whirlwind of grace lay at her core--and it reminded me to try and remember that there are surprises and mysteries in every person that lives, and that face value is not always the right value, so much of the time.