drumsI smile, recognizing the first bars of a song I haven't heard for a few months. A simple gesture, this slight movement of facial muscles, the slight creasing of the tissues in my cheeks, that instantly travels to somehow reside in my eyes. No one else in the room with me, but in that moment, the atmosphere has subtly changed. There are new possibilities in this place, and my quarters are no longer a cavelike lair, but a tiny performance chamber.
The mood of the song subtly changes, and I rise from my chair to cross and face my shadow on my door. My window is behind me, shaded, and I move slowly at first in the half-light of my room. I am alone, but the term means nothing in this place. It isn't a question of whether people are here with me or not. It's a question of what my next move will be.
I whirl suddenly, leaping to reach a high kick, responding to the transition in music. I ride and dance to the rhythms, leaping lightly, landing strong. I never dance like this with the girls - that's a praise to being alive and being social, with some allusion to our untapped sexuality. This dance is for me and my heritage. Let the world watch, let me dance alone, let them all join as we dance.
This heritage is not limited to my Irish roots. It's an Irish tune, and has the rhythms and curious little flirts of joy and energy woven throughout that are particular to the music of my ancestors, but in truth, I don't know nearly as much about my Irish heritage and history as I'd like. This heritage is older still than Ireland. Past the first music of the different cultures, it was the drums that we as people made first. The original beat still rides in our bodies, from our breathing to our heartbeats. The rhythms we strike in our lovemaking, the beats we settle into when we run, the spaces between the percussion that illustrate our communication. We sang before we struck the drums, but it is the drums that carry us.
I slow, gracefully gathering my space back to me, letting my arms fall once more. I wait, in the silence between songs. I'm in the center of an empty stage - the next move is mine. I'm on a hilltop, the wind is my music, and I dance with the storm. I'm surrounded by my fellows, sharing one spirit.
The bodhran, the drum of my spirit, fades to be replaced by a patter, the music now carried by the whirling, dancing strings. I laugh without sound, and fall quickly into the new pattern set before me, stepping as the music calls, turning quickly to compensate for the small space. The unheard-laugh weaves itself into my dancing to swirl around me, a new note to the music.
Dancing is not a difficult matter, so long as you are a living creature with emotions. You simply let the music into yourself, and it blends with your natural personality and spirit, and you flow. The fear of dancing among other people is nothing more than a fear of letting your natural self show. Forget the other people - we dance to celebrate, not to impress. We dance to celebrate this gift of life. These passions we're given, the tumultuous experience of change, the ability to learn, and more than this, the ability to feel.
I dance. There is no question to me that I am alive.
The mood of the song subtly changes, and I rise from my chair to cross and face my shadow on my door. My window is behind me, shaded, and I move slowly at first in the half-light of my room. I am alone, but the term means nothing in this place. It isn't a question of whether people are here with me or not. It's a question of what my next move will be.
I whirl suddenly, leaping to reach a high kick, responding to the transition in music. I ride and dance to the rhythms, leaping lightly, landing strong. I never dance like this with the girls - that's a praise to being alive and being social, with some allusion to our untapped sexuality. This dance is for me and my heritage. Let the world watch, let me dance alone, let them all join as we dance.
This heritage is not limited to my Irish roots. It's an Irish tune, and has the rhythms and curious little flirts of joy and energy woven throughout that are particular to the music of my ancestors, but in truth, I don't know nearly as much about my Irish heritage and history as I'd like. This heritage is older still than Ireland. Past the first music of the different cultures, it was the drums that we as people made first. The original beat still rides in our bodies, from our breathing to our heartbeats. The rhythms we strike in our lovemaking, the beats we settle into when we run, the spaces between the percussion that illustrate our communication. We sang before we struck the drums, but it is the drums that carry us.
I slow, gracefully gathering my space back to me, letting my arms fall once more. I wait, in the silence between songs. I'm in the center of an empty stage - the next move is mine. I'm on a hilltop, the wind is my music, and I dance with the storm. I'm surrounded by my fellows, sharing one spirit.
The bodhran, the drum of my spirit, fades to be replaced by a patter, the music now carried by the whirling, dancing strings. I laugh without sound, and fall quickly into the new pattern set before me, stepping as the music calls, turning quickly to compensate for the small space. The unheard-laugh weaves itself into my dancing to swirl around me, a new note to the music.
Dancing is not a difficult matter, so long as you are a living creature with emotions. You simply let the music into yourself, and it blends with your natural personality and spirit, and you flow. The fear of dancing among other people is nothing more than a fear of letting your natural self show. Forget the other people - we dance to celebrate, not to impress. We dance to celebrate this gift of life. These passions we're given, the tumultuous experience of change, the ability to learn, and more than this, the ability to feel.
I dance. There is no question to me that I am alive.
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