A Dance Meditation

I wrote this poem for the Heritage Dance Project with Group Motion Dance Company in late 2020. At that time, as for many, I felt broken. My body, my identity, creativity, all felt so foreign to me. I struggled with the project's prompt to explore my heritage through dance, song, and text. Still, with encouragement, I forced myself to try. To attempt moving and expressing again, and see what happened. Within those awkward attempts, I found some simple truths I could write about honestly: how dancing/moving feels to me and how the process of doing improv dancing had wider wisdom and questions for me. 3 years later, I find the strong visuals in this text force me into breath and movement as I read it. I hope it can help you find the same.

A Dance Meditation

When I shut off the mind voice,
the devil,
the angel on my shoulders,
the worried idle prattle,
I breathe into my body.
Feel the cool air flow into my nasal cavity,
slide down and warm into my lungs.

Breathe out.

I picture the air radiate outward into my lowering shoulders,
through my biceps,
down my sinewy forearms,
and finally swirl into my fingertips.
My wrists flick.
I am an empty cavity and playground for the breath's path,
finding its way like slow pinball to my extremities.

My body is moving with.
The movement of air is energy,
and it is generous.
I breathe in slowly,
my scapula sink
into a stretch that it feels tense
but welcome.
Untensing, I breathe again,
the feet steeled to the ground,
and the knees find some bend.

I am dancing.
A dance of listening and spontaneity.
Of no purpose.
No agenda.
A slow dance that finds aches and tension in hiding and brings them an oxygenated massage.

It costs only a willingness to be open,
listen and respond.
To hold discomfort.

For in the process, the muscles will stretch and perhaps they will tear.
But the body is built for this ritual.
It will sew new strength between the muscle fibers,
building new bends and new possibilities.
Prepare you for the next.

How are you filtering out the noise and building your strength?
How are you inviting discomfort and healing it?
How are you listening?
How will you respond?

Thank you endlessly to my late and great dance mentor Manfred Fischbeck for seeing and encouraging the creativity in me, even from his hospital bed. This was/is by some magic a self-regenerating gift.