The Muse

Traditionally, a muse is female. I think that's because women are innately powerful; incredible enough to inspire songs to be sung, poetry to be written, art to be created. The Goddess is an amazing force and she moved me to dance. From the beginning, my muse has been the great, glorious feminine force. She encourages me to be a women, to feel every feeling, to allow heartbreak and sorrow into my life as easily as I allow laughter and joy. She encourages me to feel alive, to really be here now.

I know learning and growing is part of dance and part of life. But never before, except for this moment, has my personal muse been male. He, an actual man. And, especially in a time of a few major life-altering events, this fact has shaken me to my core.
Never do I dance for men. Never has my dance been intended to speak to them. Surely, they can see beauty there; they can appreciate the movement, the music, the intent. But it is not for them.



Recently I had to push myself out of a very dark place. I had to force myself to dance. One afternoon, after a few horrible days I needed to work things out and dance was the only medium I had. A few hours at the studio. I let go and I danced and danced and danced. Amazingly, I moved through songs that had previously caused me to stumble. I moved through them feeling and connecting to the music. There was a bit of magic happening. And, in awe of myself, I did it again and again. I laughed, a bit stunned by an intense connection to the music. I felt so alive, such joy!!

It was only a split second before I realized that I was dancing for a guy. That's all it took and I collapsed on the floor in tears! All the movement, the joy, all the passion, the love was danced in gratitude of a man.

One specific guy who happened to take time to talk with me through a rough spot. Just a coincidence. He probably only talked with me because he was bored or because he didn't want to feel lonely that evening. But his words pushed me forward and moved me through a sad, sad place. I feel gratitude for him, for his words. I am thankful for a few moments of honesty and I'm thankful for a connection that made me feel human again.

But, also I am tormented that one person has so much power over me. Power enough to take all the horrible stuff away, even if just for a short while. Power enough to make me laugh out loud and then to nearly drown in tears. And power enough to move my dance.

It's frightening. Really. And what's even scarier is the fact that I still find myself dancing for him. I feel more alive and I can let go more completely when I feel his energy.

My dance belongs to me (or at least it did). I'm grateful for inspiration, but this muse is my demon. Pushing me to be better, dance harder, feel more, think less. Somehow, in helping me to feel human again, he gained so much power and I cannot quite find my own.

The thinking part of me says, "Get away. Run!" My logical brain knows I'm transforming and doesn't know into what. The feeling part of me, the part that is usually very subdued, is screaming at me to embrace the muse/demon. "Love him and grab hold and run with this change."

Even my logical brain knows I have never danced more freely. But I think it's not safe. Is it common sense speaking? or is it Fear? Maybe he is here to push me to create, to work harder, to dance with more feeling. If I allow this muse to move me, will he devour me?

I feel the Goddess here. But I've heard her for so long I've started not listening because I'm accustomed to her sound. Now, there's another voice I hear. Do I choose to listen, to follow?? Is it her; is she speaking through this demon?
Right now I don't know how to tell.

small worry

Less than eight months ago I managed, by some amazing stroke of luck, to acquire a dance studio of my own. I say it was a stroke-of-luck, but to be perfectly honest, I felt it coming. This opportunity had been creeping up on me for several months. Piece by piece things starting to line up. I had a bit of money sitting in the bank, the studio space that I was interested in had remained empty for quite a while and the studio we were using made it clear that bellydancers were just NOT a priority for them. Suddenly my troupe had several performances lined up and no place to practice. It was time!

I made a few phone calls, visited the space and took the leap. It happened quickly. And it's been awesome to have a home!!

Now, here we are, moving into the winter session of classes and the stress is really creeping up. Student attendance will drop, I will not be making the same amount of money as during summer and fall and to be perfectly honest, I was only just paying the rent. It's seriously stressful to not know if I'll be able to hold on to our dance space. But I know I have to try.

In the grand scheme of things a single dance studio shouldn't matter so much, right? I mean, you can always dance, with or without a studio.

It's just not that simple. The studio has become such a part of me. A tiny little piece of my soul lives there (the sane piece). There is something to be said for a small place of privacy in this chaotic life. Dance time is my time. I can re-center and re-focus like magic when I'm there. And I know that, personally anyway, it makes me a better person.

So for now, I will worry about what costuming or tribal jewelry I may have to sell to hold on to my space. But really, it's such a minor worry. Silly, to be perfectly honest. What's a bit of old jewelry in comparison to a LOT of sanity? I guess it's as simple as making the decision: even if it requires a struggle, I'm keeping my studio. There, I said it, it's done!

my greatest teachers

One tiny little girl showed the greatest amount of love. Last summer, at a family festival, there was a booth set up to create music shakers from plastic water bottles with dried beans inside. This little girl worked with her little fingers to get some beans into the skinny neck of the bottle. After twisting the cap on, she shook it to test the sound. Then, she spent many minutes decorated it with stickers and marker creating a great work of art. After she finished she came over to the bellydance tent, shy, hiding beside her mama. Then, very solemnly, she walked forward and offered the shaker.
"Here, this is for you," she said with her eyes on the ground.
I smiled and said, "Thank you; it's beautiful " doing my best not to tear up.
She walked away smiling and her mom looked at me almost apologetic that her daughter had given me a re-purposed plastic bottle.
"It's my greatest treasure," I said to her and I meant it.
I'll keep that water bottle forever, right along with my first coin belt, my Unity Award and my three certificates from Carolena Nericcio .

I'm blessed and honored to have these wonderful little beings in my life. I have an adorable fan club. They follow me around the grocery store and giggle from behind case stacks of organic ketchup. The braver ones will call out, "Bellydancer!" before they dash away to hide behind mom's legs. Last month at the Gallery Crawl, three girls probably ages 4 and 5 jumped in and danced with my troupe on the street. We circled around them and cheered them on as they shimmied and spun around and around and around. (By the way, a spin is a lot more fun when mixed with hysterical giggles!)


So, I've just about had it with the bellydancers who treat children like they are more annoying than a $4 set of zills. I have watched time after time as 'professional' bellydancers ignore children. Dance right past them, look right through them. I even saw (and I swear this is 100% truth) a 3 year old girl jump on stage right before the bellydancer was to take the stage. This darling child put her arms above her head and attempted belly rolls right there on stage in front of a nice-size crowd! She was my hero: fearless, bold!!
But, the bellydancer, set to perform next, stood backstage watching and snidely commented, "Get off the stage. Oh, I'll show her how to do belly rolls."
I was horrified.
I have news for you, these kids, they are the future. If you want to ruin your career as a bellydance instructor, be rude to them now. Who do you think your students are going to be in 10 years?? They are watching, they pay attention and they DO remember you.
My favorite is when a young girl will come up to me and confess, "My mama says I have to do ballet. But when I grow up I'm gonna be a bellydancer like you!" And these kids mean it!

It's a small thing to shimmy over to a 5-year-old and dance a few hip drops for her, but you'll have an admirer who won't forget you - ever! (And a side-note here: Happy kids = happy parents. Chances are good the parent won't forget you either! Those parents are the restaurant owners who hire you or the festival organizers who call. That can be a benefit, but that's not the reason to dance for the kids. )
Dance because you are helping them see beauty. You are teaching love. Dance because their eyes light up to see you! And dance because they are the future. Our dance cannot live on if there is no one to pass it on to.

I hope you'll welcome children into your dance-life. I promise if you open your heart, you'll learn much from them. They give love so freely. They dance so spontaneously! Children will remind you to dance for fun. They help you remember the joy in it and they will teach you to spin for no other reason than just because you want to!

Shift

True story: an audience member, a casual observer tells me I've changed his life.
ME? Change someone's life? It doesn't seem very likely.
He tells me that he did not know what beautiful was until he saw me dance.
How's that for a quote? --something straight out of some cheesy romance novel, huh?

Let me back up a bit. I am not beautiful. Never have I had any claim on that word. As a matter of fact an ex-boyfriend many years back explained to me why I could not possibly be beautiful. "Your legs are too short and well, you're just too short. Short girls aren't beautiful. And you'd need a tan."
So there you go, a definition of beauty: tall and tan. Even if you added a few inches and an aerosol can of spray-tan I'm certain that my largish nose, round belly, tiny breasts and freckles on my shoulders also knock me out of the "might be beautiful" competition.

Knowing that I'm not beautiful, I have bellydanced for over 5 years now. I love the exercise, I love the costuming, I love the camaraderie and I don't need to be drop-dead gorgeous to be a descent dancer.

This person, this guy who tells me I've changed his life; I've known him for only a very little while. And I don't know him well. In this tiny town you tend to encounter the same people over and over. Even if you don't personally know them eventually you will start to smile and say, "hello" when you pass. This is the kind of acquaintance I'm talking about. I didn't even know his name.

After a recent performance he followed me to my car and started a conversation. "Wow, I had no idea that you do that!" ("That" meaning bellydance.)
I said, "Yeah, for a while now," and that's how our conversation started.
We chatted for several minutes before he mentioned seeing me around town. I nodded my head and said something about this being a small town and eventually everyone becomes familiar. I introduced myself and he shook my hand and told me his name. His next comment kind-of threw me.
"Can I be honest? I didn't think of you as attractive. Before, I mean."
I must have had a confused look on my face because that is when he explained that he recognized me from around town, but never really looked twice. "No offense, but you're not my type." (That's fine, I'm married, not looking.) "But seeing you today. WOW! That was amazing. You're so graceful and the way you carry yourself, I couldn't look away."
I think my response was a very slow, "Ummm. . .thank you?"
We talked for a while longer and went our separate ways. I was thankful for the compliment, glad that I had danced interestingly enough that he stopped to watch. And a bit glad that the weird conversation was over.

Two days later, I ran into him again. This time at the grocery store.
He catches up to me saying, "Hey, bellydancer! How are ya?"
"Fine," I replied.
"I was thinking about you," he said.
Thinking about me? I'm confused. Why on earth was he thinking about me?
"You changed my life," he continued.
More confusion on my part.
"Really, I swear it. After I saw you dance I went home and started thinking. I never knew what beautiful was until I watched you. Everything has shifted."
I asked, "What do you mean?"
He said, "I didn't know you were beautiful. I didn't know."
My confused look must have hung around because he says something about I must think he's crazy. At this point I'm fairly certain he is crazy, deluded, needs to be committed.
"Listen, I think I was stuck thinking girls have to look like Megan Fox to be hot. Now I know better."
(Let me just add a side note: I don't have a television and I'm a bit older, so I had NO clue who Megan Fox was -- had to look her up online when I got home.)
He put his arm around my shoulder (normally, I would have been a bit creeped out, but I was starting to like this guy). "I hope you never stop dancing. You're kind-of my hero."
"Wow, I'm not a hero. I just dance."
"Well, don't stop," he tells me, "I'll see you around," and he walks away.

"This guy has a flair for drama," I think. But he really got me thinking. My brain ran around everywhere for a few minutes and then settled on a few definite thoughts. Kids (by that I mean much younger than myself, but all the way through college) are exposed to so much Megan Fox and Cosmo magazine in the grocery line they have a wack idea of what beauty really is. Great boobs, whiter-than-white teeth, professional make-up and hair, plus long legs, a tan and an ultra low-cut top equal beautiful. Right?
Well, if these air-brushed magazine babes were real we'd all in be trouble. They're not, but guys and girls think they are. Which is nearly as bad. Guys want these uber-hot magazine chicks. They want their next date to look like that. Magazines need to keep us all confused because what if. . .?
What if men realized that the rest of us, those of us who didn't make the cover of Vanity Fair, are beautiful. What if our round bellies and curvy hips (and short legs) were seen as beautiful? The world would truly be in trouble then. We all know to what lengths a man will go to for a woman he believes is beautiful. Entire governments can topple because of a stunningly lovely lady. If we were all seen as beautiful, what influence we would have!!! The world would be ruled by fabulously glorious women of all shapes and sizes. Men would cater to our every whim. Corporations would fall because we might opt to stay home with our babies. Women are nurturing by nature; love would grow, greed would dissolve. Wars would end. I don't think I'm exaggerating.
Megan Fox HAS to be on the cover of that grocery-aisle magazine because we all HAVE to be convinced she is the ideal. It keeps us tame, it keeps us powerless. If we don't look like her or if the girl we are dating doesn't look like her, we are nothing.

Now that I know better, I am going to float through my tiny little town and pretend to be beautiful. Maybe I'll succeed in convincing no one but myself (and a single stranger who claims I've changed his life), but one change is quite a big deal in my opinion. A larger such shift in thinking is a bit scary to contemplate. But it does make me wonder: maybe this dance, as old as humanity itself, is a step forward in changing the way we look at women. It seems appropriate that something so old could carry us back to where we're supposed to be.