dance 1

I have always loved to dance, it’s been my preferred way to work out since I don’t know when. Turn the lights off, crank the music up and dance…dance till my sides ache and I drip with sweat. I haven’t done it in a long time, and yes, my body is testament to that failing. But in the wake of meeting Dianne Sylvan for the first time—I am really looking forward to classes with her—she is a sane, rational being and I got to thinking about her series on Conversations with God and the new direction dance could take me.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect “Jeff,” or any other manifestation of Deity to pop into my living room and freak my cats out. After all, if one expects deities to come around, they just don’t, do they? Not to mention that it would probably scare the crap out of me and then where would we be—one dead Wiccan and a repentant god/dess. Not at all good for the faith.

I usually start out with music that’s designed to make you move fast and keep moving, but I knew I’d probably pass out, so I flipped thru my CDs to find something a little less energetic. I saw Fleetwood Mac and one of my favorite songs…”The Chain.” Only later, after the lyrics stood out in my mind as being rather fitting, did I check the name of the album...The Dance.

In the past, I’ve used my nocturnal dancing as a transport to other realities. No, not in the airy-fairy out-of-body sense, but fantasies that were nothing but pure escapism. A means by which to escape, if only for an hour or two, my crappy little life. I’ve done this since junior high school, play-acting if you will. Pretending I’m someone else, a guy usually, or myself, but better (or at least better in my own mind). But last night I made a conscious effort to be myself, to not escape into the world of make-believe. I concentrated on me, as I am, trying to draw energy to me, to work out the months of kinks due to inactivity. And talking. To myself, to the other energies in the room, reminding both myself and them just why I was here.

I wondered, if the divine were to manifest itself in my living room, just what would he, she…it? look like? Well, certainly not Sylvan’s teh hawt Jeff. Male? More than likely not, I thought…I need the feminine side of deity now, since most my life I’ve seen God as male. Female, then. Old…young…? At one point I pictured Dawn French in wings and a lopsided tiara as my fairy godmother…and said to the room—I don’t WANT a fairly godmother!!

My son got up and wondered what the racket was…I let him dance with me. At first he tried to mimic what I was doing and I think, given enough help, he’d actually get it after a bit, but I told him, don’t worry about what I’m doing, just dance however you feel like. It made me happy on the inside, like few things do to see him jump and bounce, and try turning jumps, and work in his version of jumping jacks, all woefully off the beat, but he was dancing with mommy and we both felt good about that. We stretched and we crunched; I had to put him to bed twice and promise that I’d start my dancing earlier the next night so he could dance with me. Dawn French was sounding more and more likely.

I danced until I was sweating, I kept dancing, I danced until I laughed…and felt like crying in the same breath. I opened myself to what would come to me…and felt someone else in the room…that feeling when you know someone’s there. At first it was unnerving, but then I concentrated on relaxing and accepting myself for whoever I am and that presence for whoever it is. Perhaps, one day it will decide to let me know who or what it is, but until then I dance.

i been alone
all the years
so many ways to count the tears
i never change
i never will
i'm so afraid the way i feel
days when the rain and the sun are gone
black as night
agony's torn at my heart too long
so afraid
slip and fall and i die
i been alone
always down
no one cared to stay around
i never change
i never will
i'm so afraid the way i feel

(Fleetwood Mac, i’m so afraid)