The first time I saw a ballet performance I was five years old.

After months of tippy-toeing and spins, my mother enrolled

me in classes. The classes fell short of my expectations.

There were no beautiful costumes, and my shoes kept my feet bound

to the ground. Under the tight watch of our teacher we were kept from

socializing, laughing, and generally having fun.

Things slowly got better; we had annual recitals with costumes, I got to sew

ribbons on my slippers, and soon after that I got my first pair of toe shoes.

The first day on my new shoes was wonderfully painful.

I stumbled over them like a baby giraffe finding it's new legs.

Initially I felt like I had fallen in love with the dance again; every blister was an

accomplishment. The honeymoon period ended quickly. Five years later I was

weary of the dance. I didn't love it, and it didn't love me.

In the magic of puberty it told me I was too short and stalky.

Then it put me through the pain of injury time, and time again.

When a serious injury finally found my ankle it was welcomed as a

chance to escape. I had loved moment; twirling, spinning, running,

breathing it all in.

Fourteen years of ballet had offered me only rare glimpses at that freedom.

The angles and symmetry of it had kept me bound to the earth in a

defeating way. I made other attempts to rediscover my movement,

but they all felt lifeless. Ballet had destroyed my love of motion.

After voicing my pains to a friend he invited me to come see the troupe

he drummed for. I fell in love. Their dance was strong, and inviting.

They used control to harness perpetual movement.

I began taking classes as soon as I could. At first my movements were forced

and sloppy. As time went on they began to refine, but they still weren't free.

It wasn't until I danced a child to sleep that I rediscovered how to

breath the moves.

My hips sang a lullaby, as rhythm, perpetual and sweet, allowed him

to find sleep. He nestled near my womb, secured by my warmth,

and at that moment I lived my dance.

Through his wisdom I gave birth to my movement again,

and for the first time in years I

felt joy in being bound to the Earth.

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Yala!

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Web Sites of interest:

• Visions Photography
• Belly Dance Museum
• Belly Dance Home Page

 

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