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| Blogs > LaurelTreeGal > A lesbian's quotidia |
A Barefoot Ecstatic Dance, a Queer Dance, and Missing N.
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A Barefoot Ecstatic Dance, a Queer Dance, and Missing N. It is past noon, and I've not yet finished my coffee, and am only just now having breakfast. At least I am washed and dressed - mostly. Last night I went to the Barefoot Ecstatic Dance. I arrived at the location on Grafton St. a little after 8 PM. Admission was based on the honor system; a box sat on the table at the entrance to the large dance space. Multicolored Christmas lights snaked along all four walls, filling the air with the same ambiance as any living room gets at Christmastime with the lights on the tree lit, and all other lights off. A handful of people, mostly women, some , and sprinkling of men sat, lay upon, or walked around the floor, most stretching in anticipation of the dance. Soft aimless pseudo-natural music filled the space. A woman approached me as I entered. She was shorter than me, perhaps 5' 5"-ish. She had the presence of a dancer, and she appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. She asked me if I had ever attended a barefoot ecstatic dance before. I told her that I had been wanting to for months, but other commitments had prevented me from coming. I headed to the left where there was a bank of chairs. I chose an empty one, and sat, shedding my coat, and white sweatshirt hoodie, took off my boots and socks, and looked around, taking in the space, feeling it. Another woman sat next to me. She also asked me if I'd been there before. I gave her the same answer, and effused to her - I had also to the first woman. My penchant for effusing was constant throughout the night. Everyone who heard offered their congratulations. I traversed the periphery of the space before sitting and stretching along with the others. As I walked, I felt each step connect, and root with the floor. I imagined drawing the power generated by previous dances and stored in the wood of the floor. I felt strong, I felt sexy. I do not have the flexibility the other women displayed, but I certainly had more than the men. After 15 minutes or so of this, one of the lead dancers called us all into a circle. She explained the rules: no talking during the event/experience, voicing in animal noises or other noises is permitted. She went on to explain that the music would start slow, rise in intensity, and then fall again at the end. Then we started. People swayed, some floating their arms as though on the surface of waves, all interpretations of the music individual and connected. Over the passage of two or three pieces of music people rose from the floor. The music rose in energy and vigor. Some rhythms reminded me of my dance classes, some reflected rhythms from around the world, pervasive, seeping into the bones, motivating the flesh. Some of the music was contemporary, jazzy, richly textured. I began to circulate. Moving amongst the people here was different than it is at other places. Here, people spread out, individual islands on the sea of the floor, evenly spaced. Sometimes I had to time my movements with the dance of another in order to move to another region of the floor. most people stay rooted at first, but I was not the only one circulating. We were like currents in the sea. Here, as with other dance venues, I encountered some who resonated with me. I also connected with some of the floaters. As always there are one or two who keep me a little longer, who smile broadly when I return, and connect with me as I dance their way. Almost always these people are very young, once in a while they are older, maybe in their thirties. But this dance for all of its similarities in the responses I received from people, had a different dynamic. No alcohol, as a matter of face no drinking or eating of anything, everyone dance, though some sat quietly on the edges for a time. Somewhere in the middle of the event, a chain of dancers circulated around the floor, gathering people as they circulated. I placed my hands on the hips of one of the dancers [when I refer to dancers I mean women who have spent their lives in dance]. This chain endured for a song, or two before it fragmented into individuals. Later a tiny train constituted only with made the rounds. I gravitated back to my purse for a kleenex regularly. I sent N. a terse response during one of those trips. Eventually the music began to cool. People got closer and closer to the floor, and the music returned to its aimless state for a while. As we all lay in various poses of quiescence, people emitted animal noises; there was frequent laughter. I was a raven. Somewhere in the middle of the dance I had lost my glasses; earlier I had hung them from the V in my dress at the bottom of my cleavage. Someone had found them and placed them on the table by the music system. I redressed for my journey to the next party in the chilly night air. My hands got cold as I responded to one of N's emails. When I arrived at the Queer party, there were two people standing on the landing. I did not know them. I said hello, and entered. There was a long flight of stairs leading to the upper apartment. The facebook page that had advertised this event referred to the place as The Labyrinth. One of the first people I saw was Laura, a transgender woman who is just four years younger than me. She looks older. And she suffers a lot from ridicule because she is so obviously trans; it is sad. I told her that I was thirsty and wanted water. She suggested the home-made beer.The paper by the crate with the beer said, "By ". I dropped a twoonie into the jar. It was the only beer I drank while there. In the picture I sent you, there was water in the bottle; I used the bottle all night. I retreated down the hallway for a little privacy while I fixed my dress. The halter had slipped at the other dance. No one was dancing when I first arrived. Shay was cutting [Morgan's] hair in the bathroom - I don't know what Morgan's male name is. Shay is also a trans-male. There was a girl at the kitchen table applying makeup to another girl. Jacqueline, chair of the board at South House, was setting up the music in the living room; the room had been cleared to maximize the available space for dancing. Rianne arrived and said hello. There were a couple other transmen that I knew from Hot Times that were there too. Jacqueline got the music playing, and I danced alone for a little while; she plays a really danceable mix!. When I saw Lee-Ann Poole walk in. She approached me and wrapped me in a great big hug, and asked me if I've been doing any writing lately. I told her about the books that I have read that you gave me. She knew them both. I effused to her about you, and as I told her about how we met, she observed that my story was prescient. I told her that you were better than that woman; you are real, and I could not possibly write you. She laughed. Lee-Ann wrote Short Skirt Butch, a play in one voice that was opened to the fringe festival here two years ago, and played again last year. She had given me some sage and simple advice in adapting my story to a play. I refilled my beer bottle with water, and then returned to the living room that now had some people dancing in it. There was a young pair dancing. A tall girl, taller than me by a little who appeared very strong, was thin, and had exquisite rhythm, her partner was a shorter transgirl who hopelessly tried to match her partner's rhythm. As I danced near them, the tall girl focussed on me. We then danced together for a fair bit of time. I couldn't match her exactly but was able to do something close to what she was doing, and she adapter hers to me. She was the first to bump up against me. The room continued filling and I danced with others too. The smell of sweating, dancing young women was intoxicating. After a while, I had to return to the kitchen to refill my bottle. Standing by the sink was a group of young women. I chatted with them for a while, again returning to my constant refrain about you. . I also talked to them about dance. They followed me to the dance floor. I danced a bit with each of them, and dance a little more with the tall girl. Jordan entered the dance floor area and connected with about six other people before she saw me. She is another Hot Times person. She danced over to me an looped a long red christmas streamer over my neck. I danced, using the streamer to some effect for a while before finally dumping it onto one of the two chairs in the room. At some indeterminate time later, a short girl with chin level dark hair came in and began dancing with me. She got up close and intimate right quickly. The grind is fun, but I am beginning to think it takes a very special connection between any two people to sustain the mutual rhythm. My solution has been to roll from behind, maintaining contact while I dance to her front. It always seems to get smile. There was a black girl, a big girl, with very nice rhythm also gravitated toward me. My simile of her rhythm drew adaptation from her. Much as I have always loved dancing in this way, and still do, my heart now lies in N's hands. I would always rather be with her. And I recognize that the complexity of this polyamorous relationship will alway bias our choices in ways that will often be heart-rending to both of us. I did not stay till the end of the party. I wanted not to be in bed all day today because I have to get up especially early to open the lab by 8 tomorrow. |
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