Ecstatic Dance

Movement as Spiritual Practice

I haven't danced in days, and my body is tired of being patient, tired of waiting for my mind to catch up. I give in, like I always do, knowing my muscles know best.

Dressed in sarong and sports bra, I light the candles on top of my television and reach into the little box from South America to find a vial of oil labeled "Sweat Your Prayers." I anoint wrists, heart, third eye, and belly, then take a moment to breathe, stilling my mind, letting my awareness sink into my feet.

The prayer is spontaneous, the invocation brief: "Lady of the Earth, Lord of the Dance, this is my offering..."

A flick of the remote, and we begin with flowing, the rhythm of the undulating hills. Flowing is all feminine, curves and circles, hip-breast-belly. My spine traces spirals on the wall, my hands are poets, carving sonnets in the air. Moon cycles, labor pains, seduction and romance, all things of the Goddess come to play in flowing. It is the rhythm my body knows best, and I resist moving on, though I know it has to be.

The drums continue, shifting into staccato, the rhythm of the masculine. Sharp movements, lines drawn in the sand, decisions made and carried out. Vertical, horizontal, rarely diagonal. Tonight staccato comes more easily; it is fire, the will, and that element and I have gotten along better lately. The God watches me, approving, from behind a stand of trees that would normally be my kitchen. My elbows and knees want attention, my hands ball into fists to strike out at what hurts me, breaking through walls.

Where masculine and feminine meet there is inevitably chaos. The music somehow blends the roundness of flowing with the sharpness of staccato, and my body reaches out for both, now covered in a glowing film of sweat that bounces the candlelight. Chaos is the volcano, the earthquake, nuclear fusion--all the things that shake the world and leave us raw, exposed, open to new creation. Suddenly I am a kachina, a dervish, whirling around the room all wild hair and arms. The drums grow louder, or perhaps they are resonating off my heartbeat--I don't know, or care, as my body carols a triumphant "Yes!"

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in one of the picture frames on the wall, a painting of a dancing woman called Talk to the Moon. I see my shape in shadow, and wonder for a moment, who is that woman? She doesn't look like me, doesn't move like I think I should. I should be clumsy and bouncy, all giggles--this woman is graceful, her arms serpentine, her hips telling stories of a hundred lovers I have yet to meet.

Before I can dwell too long on her, the rhythm shifts again, into lyrical--transcendence. Lyrical is Irish step dance, feet with wings, the lightness and inspiration of Air. As I lift myself off the ground, suddenly a hundred pounds lighter, the idea comes for another story, another chapter of my book. I file it away and come back to my body, letting the last of the all-too-human heaviness fall away. I am a feather on the bright sky, I am a veil in the hands of a belly dancer. The wind carries me out beyond the world I know, toward the distant spires of my spirit.

One last change, and the present slows down. Stillness at last, and the heaviness returns, but this time a welcome grounding rather than a millstone round my neck. It is like moving underwater, one shape gradually giving way to the next. The seasons of the year move through me, turning slowly, and each movement is fraught with meaning--one lifted hand can change the world. Stillness is mindful, the full experience of sensation, a haiku of energy.

Eventually I come to the Earth, letting my breath return to its resting state, and reach for the red towel I have designated for this use alone. My Prayer Towel has soaked up a lot of rituals, and like any magical tool it is infused with my energy. I stay on the floor, cross-legged, hands folded as in prayer, listening.

Usually, of course, this is when my cat decides he's waited long enough for me to pay attention to him, but the damage is done, and I smile serenely and hold him against my sweaty shoulder while I putter around getting ready to shower. All the pains in my body, the toothache, the headache, the stress centered in my shoulder blades from worrying about my blood sugar, have evaporated. I finish off my ice water and fill it again, a little disappointed that it's over...until tomorrow night.

The Wave, the method of ecstatic dance I've just described, was created by Gabrielle Roth; I am not a certified instructor or anything like an expert, so I offer you my own experience as an example of what moving the body can do for the soul. When you dance alone with the gods, it doesn't matter what you look like or how idiotic you feel--all those concerns melt away under the power of rhythm.

I make a ritual out of the Dance, but it's not necessary; the oil, the towel, the invocation are all things I've added to satisfy my Wiccan sensibilities. To reach the gods in dance you don't even need five rhythms, just music that makes your body want to get moving and clothes that won't get in the way.

In the beginning, if you are as body conscious as I tend to be, try this: sit down on the floor, legs crossed, and dance with only your arms. Focus on how your upper body can move, all the graceful motions you can coax from it. Forget your legs for a while and learn to let the music move you one body part at a time. Arms in particular have many stories to tell. We're usually so concerned with not taking up too much space (women especially) that our arms never get to speak.

Let your body talk. It remembers every ritual you've ever performed, every injury, every love. As someone once said, "The only way out is through." We can never let go of our negative experiences if we don't move through them--if your heart isn't in it, your body most certainly will be.

Music and Literature I Recommend for this Sort of Thing:

Anything by Gabrielle Roth and the Mirrors, of course. Read her book Sweat Your Prayers to get a full immersion in the Wave method; it's a beautiful book no matter what you choose to learn from it.

Karen Andes has written a lovely book on belly dance, called A Woman's Book of Power, which takes you through the history of women and dance, then describes specific movements and routines you can perform for health and well-being.

As far as CD's are concerned, Delerium's Poem is excellent. Also try:

Loreena McKennitt (her middle eastern tracks are incredible)

The soundtrack to the Goddess Workout (a video on belly dance, whose soundtrack is fantastic)

Anything by Enigma, Dead can Dance, Afro Celt Sound System, or Govinda

Pop and rock are just as appropriate. The only limitation is how your bones respond to the beat. For example, I made a tape called the Tori Wave, a trip through the Wave starring Tori Amos:

Flowing - "Iiee"

Staccato - "She's Your Cocaine"

Chaos - "Raspberry Swirl"

Lyrical - "Cornflake Girl"

Stillness - "Liquid Diamonds"

Copyright 2006 Dianne Sylvan. All rights reserved.