When I die, one of the images burned in my brain that will flash through my mind happened last week.
The Monday night Mountain View ecstatic dance was winding down. I sat at the altar and looked at the tarot cards that had been chosen by other dancers and lay face up on the black cloth. One said, “In between worlds.” Another said, “No place like home.” As I contemplated how I was going to successfully steward this dance forward when I took it over in a few weeks, the cards felt like a sign. The dance, which started in 2000, was in between worlds - letting go of the past and the yet-to-be discovered future. The instructions on the card said to stay curious. It said to allow myself to be surprised at what emerges.
I put the cards down and turned around to see the dimly lit dance floor soft and tender. I witnessed intimacy as two people danced closely together. One woman was wildly dancing by herself. Another dancer had her eyes closed and her hand on her heart. It was a sweet sight. And then the dancers started to clasp hands and link up, swirling around and about one another in a serpentine chain. Tears sprung to my eyes at the beauty of it.
A smiling woman, auburn hair cascading down her back, eyes sparkling, reached out her hand to me, palm up, and invited me in. It was such a simple and pure gesture. Too often, I’m happy to sit back and witness intimacy on the dance floor, rather than experiencing it directly. But this time, I couldn’t say no to the sweet invitation. I took her hand, tears streaming down my face, and joined the group as a feeling of welcoming and belonging flooded my being. I’ll never forget that face or that sweet invitation.
“And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.” -Lee Ann Womack
Have you experienced a sweet invitation while dancing? Have you extended one? What was it like? Please reply and share! I’d love to hear your experience.