last night i went with a friend to a wiccan belly dance celebration. it was wonderful and i got to hear a truly independent band, the gypsy nomads, who are simply amazing. had no ducats or i would have acquired their music, but in the near future i'm sure i'll see them again. i won't hesitate to rejoin this group for some fun.
my friend looked me in the eye and said,
i have to work on you with that. having fun. enjoying them for what they offer in the moment and not getting invested.
good luck.
so we're at the grocery trying to find some last minute something to take with us to share and we can't decide, we're bickering like school girls and i finally decide,
i'm going to make this completely fifth grade.and put the options behind my back.
pick an arm,i said.
.
shimmy.she said.
.
so i stood there, in the refridgerated section with my hips firing back and forth and laughing while she decided which arm to choose.
i feel like i'm seventeen with you.
that's because you are.
and we went to the gathering. but before we left her house, she put on some indian fusion and danced. she so easily slips into her role as belly dancer, because she's been
doing it for years,she says. i watch her glide around the room, in a persian style, more ethereal and footworky (she explains these distinctions to me).
i don't watch her straight on, because i'm not used to watching people dance. i watch her with my peripheral vision, as her chocolate chip striped whippet is curled up on the persian rug eyeing me.
we're the same you and i,i say.
he moves his eyebrows.
always waiting for someone to throw the ball. always hoping, every moment, even after we've been told no, that someone will pick up the spitty ball and throw it. we are the same creature, you and i.
and he lies there looking at me still. whimpering slightly since i've engaged him. my belly dancing friend laughs and continues to move gracefully around us, around the room.
hope is the enemy.i tell him.
at this he walks to his kennel and curls up for a nap.
my friend and i are sitting in the second row and watch the tribal belly dancer mesmerize us and everyone else with three dances. god she was amazing.
before she danced, there was a fellow there who screened an indie film, his first short production which was actually quite good. the crowd loved it, and it was a nice segue into the dancing which would follow.
she started out very slow, postured, and i realized, what person doesn't like watching a gorgeous woman dance? her every move in time with the music, nothing overdone. nothing overstated. her tribal costume was more white than black which was refreshing since she was the palest shade of ivory (there is a poem coming about her), sometimes, when these things start germinating i have to sit very still and not disturb them. not jostle them out of my consciousness. i was taking in her every line, the gentle curve or her hips, the feathers on her bra, the tribal rosettes on her hips. everything, everything went into me like a sponge.
i could hardly move, i hated having to look around the person sitting in front of me. but sometimes she got on the floor, and i couldn't see. second row sucks.
so, these gypsy nomads start to play, and they were, they are, the bomb. i'm not inclined to sit and listen to any band stoicly. to not budge, to just be nailed to my chair. and the preformed plastic was hurting my ass. i wanted to get up halfway through, but held out until my friend suggested it.
we went to the back and danced. she, easing gracefully into her persian style, while i battled my pink converse to work the egyptian style i'm more familiar with. it is good my style is less about floor movement because i usually dance barefoot. but her shoes, arguably larger and heavier than mine, seemed to dissipate with her movements. they didn't encumber her at all, which i found, quite lovely.
then the trilling started. and i haven't done that in a long time. in texas, i used to roll down my window and trill at horses as i drove by. but not in years. no reason to.
so my friend does it, she's used to persian weddings and belly dancing being occasions for this expression. and i arch my back, extend my head up, and take a deep breath. and i trill L.O.U.D. and L.O.N.G.
she laughed and was surprised.
we'll have to have a contest sometime,she said,
see who can do it the loudest.
and i smiled.
seems she'll be having a dinner party soon, and i'm among the invited guests, and, well, i told her,
we'll go out into your yard and do it there(knowing the neighbors would blow a gasket).
we were at a campground at the base of storm king mountain.
my husband would not be pleased.she replied. and i laughed, understanding.
it's hard to express, the freedom, the power of belly dance. and to be in a room full of belly dancers, and dancing with them, was wonderful. i didn't go up or let my friend go up to the front of the room (because i've never been a front of the room dancer). but i did cut loose, let go, and she finally got to see me in action.
that was fun.i told her as we wove through the dark night misty roads.
yes, you finally let go.
yes.
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