and sometimes, a bit like this:
and sometimes, a little bit like this:
That's the kind of dancing I love!
It's the kind that sets me free, that leaves me doubled over in fits of laughter, that takes me deep inside until I touch innocence and shape it with my bare hands. It's the kind of dancing that I spent two beautiful days doing a few weeks ago with forty or so women, during which time I listened intently to my heart and my body; during which time I communed with God, tears of joy streaming down my face, rivulets of purity as I released eons of fear and self-hate.
The dance I dance is in the beat of my feet, the wave of my spine, the swoosh of my hands as I scoop and tinkle and thud and pulse my way back into my body, homeward bound from the moment I enter movement. I dance so that I might live, and I live from dance to dance. It's also quite common to see me talk about the dance, but not actually dance it when it gets to Tuesday night, or Thursday. Instead, I am fatigued, heavy, worn out from hours at a desk hunched over a keyboard, and I condemn myself for saying that I'll dance and then not doing it.
Tonight was one of those nights, and tonight, I am changing the record. It's really, completely okay. With that permission and acceptance comes freedom.
On July 2nd, I am embarking on a four day dancing journey, a pilgrimage of sorts. I am privileged to be participating in the School of Movement Medicine's Long Dance ceremony this year:
The Long Dance ceremony is a way to join in deep community to dance, sing and pray together for all our relations. It will happen in a large marquee at the edge of the ancient Somerset levels, close to the Earth Spirit Centre in Glastonbury. The ceremony provides a profoundly healing, catalytic and magical space where each individual is encouraged to find their own unique way of expressing their dreams and love for life through the dance.
It’s an opportunity to spend some time remembering that our own personal wellbeing is connected to the wellbeing of the planet, and to dedicate our dance to all our relations, past, present and future. The deeper we dance, the more we directly experience the reality of the interconnected nature of all life. This recognition is not just a blissful experience. It’s a remembering of our responsibility to honour and protect the sanctity of life, each in our own way.
Participants are asked to wear white clothes for the duration of the ceremony, and to raise a minimum of £200 for either the chosen charity, Survival International, or for a charity of your choice.
I have been sitting with this for quite some time, and have not raised a penny yet! Whilst I admire Survival International, I knew immediately that this was not who I wanted to raise money for. My heart said, quite simply, "No". And I listened. And I listened.
And this is what I heard:
The hospice is the place where Jim Atkinson, Nige's beloved and sorely missed dad, spent his last days in December of last year.
The people working at the hospice treated Jim and all the people there with dignity and respect. They have big, open hearts. I saw this on the day that Nige and I visited there to thank the staff for the love and care they gave to Jim.
I have asked myself why I want to raise money for the hospice. It wasn't my dad. Am I doing it to please Nige? Is it from a misplaced sense of guilt?
And my heart kept replying, "the hospice. The hospice. The hospice".
And so I will not only raise money (hopefully more than £200, with your help!), but I have decided to dance for 48 hours in honour of Jim Atkinson; in honour of Jenny Atkinson, Nige's mum, who since his passing, has been constantly stepping out of her comfort zone and out into the world, suddenly without the man she spent 44 years of her life alongside and who now shares her bed with pillows and teddies instead of her soul mate; and in honour of Nige, my best friend, my soul mate, and a shining star in my life.
I can't do this dance alone. I will need nourishment for my body throughout, especially as we're only going to be stopping for three hours' sleep; I will need proper dancing shoes, which I do not yet own; I will need white clothes; I will need connection and encouragement from fellow dancers; and I will need your help.
I know that we are all faced with a barrage of requests for sponsorship every day, in the street, online, in our workplaces. And here I am, just another person asking you to 'dig deep' and give. Perhaps it doesn't have to be so deep. Perhaps it's swapping your daily Starbucks for a homemade coffee, and donating the £2.
If you have the means and the willingness to give 'more', that's wonderful. I want you to know that whatever you give, I will be so incredibly grateful. And I know that the hospice will be, too.
So tune in, and listen to your heart, and see if it has anything to say. Who knows, perhaps it might even have a dance all of its own that only you can dance.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Love,
Elloa
No comments:
Post a Comment