Dancing Lessons

                                                             

      The next four days always filled me with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. There was the hustle and bustle of planning, seeing familiar faces which seemed akin at times to a family reunion, and the combination of drumming music and wafts of burning sage in the air. These gatherings were not the traditional hints of Christmas of course, but there were always gifts, though immaterial, and a sense that something sacred would take place. A small group of colleagues and myself had come for our yearly sandtray workshop with our teacher, Gisela. We were all therapists and these trainings were a combination of sand tray work, art and movement. The first two were familiar enough to us, but the use of movement to facilitate healing seemed quite a reach for me. I have walked with crutches since age five, so the idea of dancing always seemed to apply to someone else. Once the music started, I took my customary seat on the sidelines prepared to watch. Being in a crowd always brought a myriad of insecurities to the surface: "What if I fall? What if I look stupid and everyone laughs at me?" My mind flooded with countless memories of how I walked alongside walls in public places to be safe and avoid being accidentally tripped. These images were always mixed in with a handful of wishes that I could experience whatever activity I was watching, but the wishes rarely came true in the social arena. However, sand tray work was about using a collection of miniatures to help a person reclaim their power to create a reality that supports their growth, and I couldn't ignore the shift that was trying to occur inside me. The dilemma to stay on the sidelines was met by Gisela's unwavering belief in something bigger.
"It's important for everyone to show up in Life," she would say, as all of my proctective reflexes kicked into full gear.
I do show up, but it seems as if no one sees me, I thought
"Someone needs the gifts you have to offer..." she would call out to the whole group as people gradually opened up to the experience and spread out across the room.
I want to really believe that, but...
"Your impact on the world is never lost...not even in the Chaos,” she added.
        My impact on the world is never lost...but I have to show up first? That was easy for her to say! This was not an easy challenge for someone more accostumed to watching, keeping score during games or applauding for them.  Several minutes passed as the music would continue to play and everyone else proceeded to find a space and dance. Curiosity would get the better of me, and I tentatively inched my way out into the group. Gisela often reminded us to "use all of the space" in the room, but I was as nervous as a soldier trying to cross a minefield. I was doing well to be out there with everyone else, let alone move. Was she kidding?
     Fortunately, the material we were using was from Gabrielle Roth's 5 Rhythms. This is a movement meditation that is comprised of five stages: flow, staccato, lyrical, chaos and stillness. The exercise usually started slow and built up to a literal chaotic frenzy. I referred to the chaos stage as "the rag doll rhythm" because that is always how I felt to just let go and let the music move me instead of my responding to the music. I am always amazed that I never fell in the "chaos" of it all, but kept my balance the whole time. The awkwardness of dancing with my arms was especially difficult because of my crutches being naturally rigid...and long! One miracle was that I was attempting to dance; the other was that I never hit someone in the head as I moved them all around me...even when me eyes were usually closed to help me shut out my fear of people staring. Eventually, I would open my eyes and see that no one was staring. I was just part of the group. Gisela also encouraged me to see my crutches as an extension of my arms and not to worry about bumping into anyone because "the universe will always make room for you." Still, I was self-conscious and longed for some way to find a flow to the music that is just not easy with two metal sticks attached to your arms. The next day my intuition would tell me to "tie on scarves" and that's exactly what I did. Different colors for each crutch: reds, blues, purples, you name it! I was quick to point out to Gisela what I had decided to try.
"You're brilliant!"
     So, off I went feeling brilliant and proud of my new solution! That experience was the catalyst for other times when I participated in dance with others throughout the years. Similar feelings during traditional circle dances reminded me of the importance of feeling included. Circle dancing taught me a lot about the ease of making room for others with the simple choice of widening the circle. No matter who showed up there would always be room for them...and everyone stood connected...eye to eye as equals. It always seemed to me that this was the best gift we could offer: an invitation to be included and to believe that whatever music and rhythm we found ourselves dancing to, it was perfect—and sacred. Those scarves not only added expressiveness to the music, but most importantly distracted me from feeling awkward and seeing only gray sticks, to for the first time in my life seeing the color and beauty of my movements. Our group met for six years and each year our group and the music would be there to make room for me on the dance floor. Although our group has moved on, I am finding more and more courage to dance my dance in this life whether life is flowing, chaotic or in a state of stillness. Just dance. There's plenty of room for everybody.

(Copyright, 2010, All Rights Reserved).
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Creation's Dance, Watercolor, c Glenda Dietrich http://www.glendadietrich.com/. (Used with permission from artist).