Why I Have to Dance ...

These days most of the time I spend dancing I spend doing Ballroom and Latin dance with the UCT society. It is at once a very demanding and technical but fun and social way of getting my dance fix. Not too long ago I was having problems communicating with my dance partner. The problems were emotionally frustrating and grueling enough that I was considering throwing in the towel with the particular partnership (regardless of how well he and I dance together) simply because I was that unhappy and to add to that I dance horribly when I'm not in a good emotional space.

My feelings about the partnership are still up in the air but considering the whole saga I was led to a place where I feel it is time to deconstruct (at least partly) what dance means to me and why it is so integral to my life that I have been known to wake up at 4am because I simply have to dance.

I could have been no older than 5 when I decided I wanted to be a dancer. I had been to an open air theatre to see a dance show and I walked out knowing that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It had been a contemporary ballet piece but now I remember little aside from the magnetic quality of the raw emotional energy and the consequent certainty that I needed to learn to dance like that. Naturally I started Ballet in my first school year and for a very long time my life goal was to become a Prima Ballerina. Over the years I experienced many different styles of dance and was, to various degrees: enchanted, challenged, disappointed, stretched, surprised, transported.

My definition of what a dancer is has changed remarkably since I was 5 but if asked to give only 1 definition of myself that's still it: I'm a dancer.

Dancing still holds magic for me. It allows me to express parts of my soul that I can't even see clearly and it enables communication without the limitations and inadequacies of words. Communication with an audience, a partner, other people in the dance, God or simply particles of the universe. When dancing you connect people to your emotion without a detour through the forest of words. Everyone can understand non-voiced communication, admittedly many forget to pay attention but in truth it's a form of communication instinctively understood and a predecessor to words.

In general dancing is primal both as an art form and a form of communication. For me, when I dance I can be strong and vulnerable at the same time. I can be honest in expressing emotions and knots in my soul that I can't even understand or see but my very darkest and difficult moment can be transformed into something that is exquisitely beautiful.

The Walk to Golgotha

Last Sunday I walked to Golgotha. The weather was gloomy and the taste of pain, fear and uncertainty were with me as the group of us walked up the hill. We were together and yet utterly alone. I felt the dark sandy soil of that place on my hands and felt cold and miserable.

A group of close friends and spiritual confidants met on a Sunday morning to pray and meditate on the life and death of Jesus Christ. As part of the meditations we each took some soil, rocks, pieces of old crosses from Golgotha. We touched them and let those fragments remind us of that day, we let them transport us back there.

I had known Jesus in my life, he and his friends had saved me. I had been alone and hungry and lost in the world. I had lived a life where I had to fight for every scrap of food, each night's shelter. I was taken in and shown kindness. I was taught of beauty and trust and love. I had seen the miracles Jesus performed and I started to live in hope. Now I was watching the son of God humiliated and my very reason for Joy in life being executed. I was walking up the hill with Jesus to watch the son of God die.

In the group we read a few readings from the Bible and then each chose a character that was present on that day. We saw the proceedings of that day from the eyes of someone who was there. Whenever one of us felt it was a good moment we blew out one or a couple of candles around the altar on the carpet. They symbolised the end of life, the dying of the Light ...

I was sick with disbelief. How could the son of God die. How could the very source of Life and Joy be spat on. Why did the man who could work miracles do nothing, simply bend in surrender to evil men. If the most powerful of all men was powerless against evil what could I do. How could I not believe that all was lost and that God had forsaken us all.

And then he asked one of his friends to take care of his mother, he died as the son of Mary. His voice was broken and tired, hopeless and surrendered but he spoke words of caring and love and continuation. Perhaps it is possible to live beauty, joy, love, trust and faith simply because Jesus showed us how. He lived a life to be an example and to teach.

If we understand that God is truly timeless then Jesus Christ dies every day in this world, but every day the miracles of his life are also re-enacted in this world.

A First Post

It seems an ultimate indulgence ... a blog post about blogging. Generally I would turn my nose up at movies about the film industry, books about writing, songs about songwriting etc. I'd consider it incestuous ... and just plain unimaginative.

But, a blog needs an introduction. The first blog post from a start-up blogger needs a fanfare! - Perhaps I will dispense with the fanfare and just explain my reasons for adding yet another Web Log of personal outpourings to the blogosphere on the internet map.

At first I considered the concept of blogging an incidental aside, interesting as a diversion but perhaps not all that productive to focus any lengthy attention on. Slowly however, I started reading friends and strangers blogs, not religiously but ever more frequently. People blogged about their personal lives, their spiritual journeys, their opinions on topics of general or specific interest ... and a lot of it generated much discussion, a lot of it was well written and insightful. The stuff I kept reading led me along interesting debates and new avenues of thought. Eventually I found the courage to comment on a blog, to put my opinion out there in writing for all to see and critique. And not long after that first foray into blog commenting I started to consider whether I should just go ahead and keep up a blog of my own.

I like writing. I like expressing my ideas and opinions on a wide range of topics but among strangers, indeed among any but my closest friends, I have a tendency to keep my opinions to myself. This in itself makes blogging at once a frightening and liberating prospect. It involves expressing closely held opinions and beliefs to strangers across the globe but at the same time those strangers can engage with my ideas more swiftly and easily, from any corner of the earth, and the discussion that ensues might lead to new insight and understanding for all.

In deciding to call the blog "Question of Motion" I think I encompassed many of my interests and passions in life as well as giving an idea of what I think/hope this blog will end up being about. I have been a dancer for as long as I can remember. I have done many different forms of dancing and in each I experienced a new paradigm, a new part of my soul. Movement and using it as a form of expression has shaped my personal and spiritual growth. I am also keenly interested in heavenly motions. I am studying astrophysics and on a daily basis I find myself further and further entranced by the study of our universe.We live in a remarkable place. All of this however, and much more, revolves around questioning ourselves and the world around us. If we are to express ourselves honestly (in writing, painting, drawing, dancing, singing etc) or search for the truth about God, the Universe or just Life then we must question. We should be as curious as children.

If you have any doubts about the virtue of questions I'll merely suggest you find yourself a copy of "Mister God This is Anna" by Fynn. I can't find quote by Anna I was going to leave you with, about the importance questions, because I picked up the book only to realise it was time to read it from cover to cover again ...