When You Can't Dance

There are moments that turn into hours that become days, days where the ever-lurking weight of despair holds on like a wet sweater. 

I fell into such a place a few weeks back, and I still feel the tendrils of yarn and thread trying to reweave themselves around me.  It happened so quickly, I'm really not sure I was aware of it until several days of being curled up on the couch had passed, and I caught the look in one of my children's eyes.  She was not quite sure that something was wrong, but knowing all too well that all was not right.

Dance was beyond me.  As much as I knew it was what I needed, I couldn't make myself move like that.  Even going for walks with my husband was met with a silent shake of the head, or a simple "Not today, hon" as I found some small thing in hand to take my focus.

What do you do when you can't give your body the prompt that it's time for it to do its work and help heal the spirit, help the mind find a little clarity and lift that damn fog?

You trick it.

Trick it with music.  We as humans are so in tuned to music and rhythm that we might as well call it another sense.  Is it because our mother's rhythmic heartbeat is the first thing we hear?  The blood of life flowing all around us in a rhythm so ancient it predates sentience.


I sang to Yvonne so much when she was an infant, it was no surprise that she was a child who always sang and danced around the house.  I will never forget picking her up from a concert event when she was 16.  She was FLYING from the high the music and dance had given her.  And good heavens, she stank.  Sweat was covered with sweat and she glowed from within and from without.  The drive home had her head out the window, singing at the top of her lungs, and turning to laugh at me as she tried to explain, over and over again, how incredible it was to just DUMP all the crap she had been going through at school, right there on that dance floor, right smack in the middle of a mosh pit of teens.

I couldn't sing when in the bottom of that hole, but I could listen to music.  The music made me breathe, it made me move side to side and tap a finger or a toe.  The key, of course, was to put on something that made me happy, that took me to places before we lost our beautiful girl, that reminded me of laughing.

I listened to REO Speedwagon's Roll With The Changes.  That one always gets me...Well, it gets to me.  And, of all things, "The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald," got me up and cleaning.  That connection was clear- I heard that a lot as a kid on Saturday mornings doing a few chores around the house.  It's my cleaning song.  I pictured mom in another room, dusting or vacuuming.

So I cleaned, and the next day, I danced.  And the next, and the next.   I went on walks. I worked on a painting project with an audio book constantly playing in my earbuds.

I'm still trying to step around the holes that open up everywhere since we lost our oldest child to the senselessness and selfishness of a teen who wanted to go drinking and driving. As her friends share birthday events, turning 27, Yvonne will forever be 23.  So adding to that the absolute horror of watching my kind, beautiful mother starve to death over 30 days because of cancer this last December has made the holes much larger and harder to avoid.

I miss them.  It's as simple as that.  And with mom leaving, it feels like losing dad all over again, as weird as that sounds.  It's been almost 18 years, but I think of him every day these last few weeks.  I miss them.

Did I mention my wonderful, sweeter-than-anyone grandmother died a month before mom?  I really think she wanted to leave before another one of her children was taken from her.  She'd already lost two sons, I don't think she could handle losing mom as well. I haven't even begun to address the loss of her, (though the old song "Barbry Ellen" plays in my mind often these days, hinting at what I need to face.)

But right now, I have to do what I have to do to keep going for my family, and for myself.  I made the decision two months after Yvonne was killed that I was not going to leave the planet.  I was going to stay, and be present for my family.  That promise is what keeps me trying.  Three, incredible children are here who need a mom, and that crazy man who married me needs me as well.

So when I can't dance, it will be music, loud and fiery, that helps me find the nooks and crannies to jam my fingers and toes into to climb out of that hole.  And in that loud music, I hear Yvonne yelling out the window, telling me how to just dump it all out there, on the floor. "Mom! It was unbelievable! I just danced. It. All. Out."

Keep dancing, sweet girl.  Keep dancing.

I danced with Yvonne last night. It was a version of her I've never seen before. She actually had a mohawk, thick and black with the sides of her head covered in short hair, not shaven, and a long mane going down the back, waving and free. The hair on top was actually held up with a gorgeous, woven and metal band of antique gold and turquoise, or her hair would have fallen to the sides. Maybe that means it's not really a mohawk.

She had the most beautifully colored henna starting just under her nose and going down her neck. It was breathtaking in its intricacy with spirals and patterns I've never seen. I stared at it often because its beauty surprised me- that seems such an odd place to have a tattoo or henna. But its beauty left me breathless.

She stood about a foot taller than me, as well, so when we danced, she seemed to fill the room.

But it was her eyes that captured me most. She seemed only slightly contained in her body, her eyes showing an energy and fire that was too large for her form, no matter how large it appeared.

And mom watched us dance for a moment- she was there, with a smile, and then she was gone.

I awoke crying with a large smile. I danced with Yvonne last night.

The Power of Women's Words

Last night I taught the second of 4 workshops in Wild Woman Gypsy skirts combos for street festivals, ren fairs and drum jams.  It was a lively class, filled with flying skirts and hooting women.

At the end, a beautiful young woman named Adida came over to me and began to talk in a quieter voice.  She seemed a bit more intense in that moment than during the class.

She came over to tell me how much she loved the workshop.

That seems simple enough, doesn't it?  It was a fun evening, I taught new things to new people. There was a lot of laughing and so much energy that if we could store it, we'd never need to buy gasoline again.  So, a new dancer came over to share her enjoyment.

But there's more to it than that.  Adida looked me in the eye.  She settled her energy.  She told me more about herself, her dance journey, and listed the details of why she enjoyed the workshop- the history, the focus on technique, the focus on creativity while maintaining dancer identity.  She took the time, not just to pad my ego, but to prop me up.

To prop me up.

When women take the time and the thought this requires, and offer it freely, it becomes a part of the support system the other woman can carry with her.

And I needed it in the most awful way.  I was having an extremely hard day with grief (they come on strong at times.)  There was a misunderstanding in my dance group with too many voices.  My baby was flying over the Atlantic ocean and I. Just. Wanted. That. Plane. To. Land.

And then Adida walked over, tempered her energy, and with an open heart, offered words to help me. All this, without ever knowing the turmoil of my day.

Perhaps, though, she sensed it.  Perhaps, with our shared energy of the night, she caught something of need on the wind.  I don't know.

What I do know is that her kind words of appreciation were not offered flippantly, giggly or without thought.  She offered a bit more of herself for the pure sake of kindness.

And then there were my dance sisters, literally offering arms of support.  I hope I give them something in return, for their shared kindness, eyes that look right into mine and gentle reminders to stay the course strengthen me each day.

Body Mind Spirit.

Body.  Mind. Spirit.

We see these linked together everywhere, with promises that one thing can affect them all.  Indeed, I completely believe that's possible, but I've found that, with trauma, while movement can feed all three at once, it is better to treat them separately.  Here is what I discovered works for me.

The Mind-
  My movement choice here is definitely yoga.  I know!  You'd think this would be about the body if anything, but my classes with ErinnEarth's Sivananda yoga brought a definite mental change.  At the time I was able to take her class, I was teaching 6-10 dance classes each week.   You'd think that would be all the movement needed to keep stress away.  But after three or four classes, I found a very real sense of calm and peace..  Stress was lifted, and I hadn't even been aware of carrying it!

The key phrase here is "after three or four classes..."  It's a practice for a reason.  If you visit once, and find your focus on aching muscles, that's because you brought your body to class.  It takes more than one visit to feel the changes a practice brings.

The Body-
Nia all the way.  I cannot stress enough how doing the practice of nia brings an awareness of the body that seems strangely intimate.   One would think that one's own body just being there was intimate enough, but after a few weeks, you really start to talk to your body. "Hey, Mr. ankle.  Why are you touchy today?" "Oh my, you thighs have certainly strengthened!  Look at how far we can plunge without pain today!"

I twist and turn and use every part of the body in every nia workout. And when I'm done, it feels like I had a true conversation with all the parts of the body, and together we jump in the shower and sing.

The Spirit-
Dance as Meditation.  We have traversed the plains of the Underworld, called the fiery energy of Kali into our joints and stirred more witches cauldrons of energy than I can count.  The people who are drawn to it seem to be those who can bring their honest self along.  After a class, it was not uncommon to talk at great length about what we saw, felt or needed to figure out.  When your whole body is expressing a simple or complex idea because words aren't enough, Spirit is nurtured.

In The Smiles That Aren't My Own

Ooohh, rough night.  Just... wow.

I dreamed repeatedly of my mother's last moments.  I saw the arm gestures her body made as she left this life a few weeks ago recreated on my children and my husband, even as they continued to speak to me, as though they had no notice of what their limbs were doing. The message was clear. Death comes for all of us.

I didn't try to go back to sleep. I got out of bed and started the day, early, and that lethargic, heavy-limb feeling is hanging on hours later.  There is zero energy to try and dance.  I stretched, lightly, just to get the blood flowing- that's important on these days that begin with the nightmares.  Pump the blood. 

Failing at healthful movement or healthy eating, I decided to catch up on Facebook details for tonight's gypsy skirt class.

And I saw it.

Beautiful smiles.  Three faces, glowing with joy at a dance event.  One of my dance sisters made her profile picture a shot taken of her in the middle of Wild Woman Gypsy, where Kan'Nal encourages us all to "bring down the fire!"  The picture is a piece of  life- a quick, shared moment of joy, a new experience, the cumulation of artistry in musician, choreographer and dancer.

I ventured on to look for other signs of beauty, in my Facebook feed, and found them.  Why?  Because I have laid the foundation for the support I need by acquiring wise, humorous, caring, funny souls who fill their boards with "~Crone Wisdom~" "Here's my weaving creation!" "We are traveling AGAIN!" "My first baby bump!" and "Just look at this peaceful garden."

FILL YOUR WORLD WITH THOSE WHO WILL HELP YOU LEAD THE LIFE YOU DESIRE.

It doesn't mean you have to end things with those who don't in a cruel manner, but end them you should.  This seems especially true for those of us who have had part of our heart, our souls removed by life's chaos, chance or change.

I can smile now, after what some would deem wasted time.  I can now be a bit more present for those who need me, the work I have to get done and for the family I love.  In the smiles of others, I reconnected with my own.

Robin's smile

February 6th, 2016.

Dance today is one of meetings and planning events, but, ya know what?  That's okay.  Gathering with my sisters and brothers who dance and drum to talk things out, mull ideas over and argue as spirited artists do is just fine.  Any time we change our schedule, little neurons in the brain get fired up, and I need all the pistons blasting that I can possibly take.

Feeling a little removed today.  This gathering will help.