The Joy of Movement. Dancing from the Inside

Today, Sunday, June 26, was a day of dance. For me a day of joy.

Though I spend most of my days moving as I teach my yoga classes, and believe movement is an essential, elemental and primeval part of our earliest development, dance is the movement that gives me the greatest fulfillment, that nourishes my soul and allows my body to speak. It infuses my yoga; I love creating and teaching vinyasas.

From my years as a performing arts reviewer I know dance is the most difficult of the arts to express in words; but dance also gives my body words. Words that sometimes it did not know, did not know it needed to say.

Margie Gillis

In Moncton professional dance workshops are not as frequent as in several places I have lived. So it was with happiness I bought my tickets for two workshops that were part of the Atlantic Dance Festival.  So this morning I found myself flowing through a session on interpretation with Margie Gillis, one of Canada’s greatest contemporary solo dancers.

“Found myself”. The words came straight out of my body, and express exactly what happens when I move spontaneously and come out of my mind into my body.

That of course is what we try to find in a yoga practice. I say it many times a week. Margie Gillis’ dance philosophy is “dancing from the inside out”, which also resonates with what yoga is about. This also connects with my Iyengar yoga training; the focus on being internal, aware of how the body feels underneath the skin, and letting the energy within flow.

Thread

Among Margie Gillis’ works to enjoy are Thread – about aging and the connections we weave; Voyages into the Inner Landscapes, and Fluid Stability. As well as being a wonderful performer, Margie is also an eloquent teacher. The two do not always co-exist; it is her passion for dance that she communicates.

It was an amazing 90 minutes of letting go, of listening within and feeling; very improvisational. We worked in pairs, we moved swiftly, we moved slowly, we arched to the sky, we released to the floor. At the end Margie was complimentary about my movement and I floated home for lunch. Not really needing actual nourishment.

In the afternoon I experienced the Bharatanatyam style of Indian dance, taught by Atri Nundy from Toronto. This is a classical dance style from Tamil Nadu in Southern India; comprising 64 basic steps and communicating through facial expression and many mudras or hand gestures. Not surprisingly it takes years to become a professional.

These pictures show just how beautiful it can be. Certainly we were so far from this.

When I was studying yoga in India a few years ago we saw several performances and were privileged to see male student dancers preparing for a career as Kathakali performers.

To my surprise, loving most aspects of Indian culture, I did not find this style of dance nearly so satisfying or joyful. As you can imagine it takes a lot of intense concentration to master the intricate foot movements – lots of stamping – and the mudras. In contrast to the morning it was all in the head and very little in the body, as it would hopefully eventually become after years of study. Of course nothing happens instantly - how often do I say that? – but after the freedom and inner expression of the morning I felt constricted, a little overwhelmed by a bit too much information and wanted so simply curve my arms around my torso and flow freely across the studio.

But my body welcomed both experiences and is the more open for them.

A Brief Blossoming. A Very Best Friend. Food for Thought.

Several incidents in the past week, caused me in quick succession to, marvel, catch my breath, and shed a tear, at courage and question some collective values.

 First was the too brief blossoming of our cherry tree. Always a marvel of nature. But this year a cool wet spring following a record snow-fall winter delayed its unfurling by more than a week. Each day I gazed from my studio window, anticipating the cloud of pale pink organza that wraps the tree. Refuge and food for birds who snack on its berries and from our bird feeders hung from its branches, the tree is a valediction of nature’s re-birth and joyful beauty.

 This year the blossoming was a more than a week late and after rain and one exceptionally windy day, all those fragile petals carpeted the ground.

 Thankfully it will continue to offer protection for the chickadees, sparrows and thrushes, we will keep the feeders full and come October the berries will again provide food.

 An incredible journey proved once again that a dog can be humans’ best friend. Much as I love my cats I gasped at the story of Mason, the rangy terrier caught up in the Alabama tornado and flung far from his family, home and familiar surroundings. Not only this but badly injured. How he crawled back home on two mangled front legs is almost beyond belief. But he did. Here come the tears again.

 First reports made me cry even more. The story was his family was giving him up for adoption as they could not keep him while rebuilding their home  and own lives.  My yoga training teaches me not to judge, but my heart broke. Is not Mason part of their lives? Was it possible to go without something to provide for him? I know from years volunteering with Humane Societies and animal rescue organisations, the double pain Mason would go through. Also studies show how much comfort animals offer us in painful times.

I too have been in a similar situation. Many years ago moving back to live in Britain, quarantine was still in effect – six months of it. I had four cats and had arranged for two of them to fly back and go through the required kennelling. Almost immediately I realised I could not choose, I had no right to condemn two of my companions, my responsibilities to the uncertainties of hoping for another forever home. I knew older animals have a very low rate of adoption, and like a child a pet is for life. I did not have much money but I immediately arranged to take all four. Never for a moment did I regret it. Three of them returned to Canada with me some years later – and amazingly after two trans-Atlantic flights still loved me.

 A day ago reports were that Mason’s family will be waiting for him when his legs have healed. That is when everyone, and Mason will heal.

 On the same day that I heard hockey fans may be prepared to pay $196,000 for a box from which to watch games when the Xxxx Xxxx move to Winnipeg, I read that 925 million people in this world of ours go hungry every day. That’s not even thinking of the people who do not have access to clean water, adequate medical treatment and shelter.

 I question our priorities, but most of all I question our collective responsibility to humanity. Do we care, really care? Can people not pay less? Sit in the bleachers, miss a game or two? And give to others.

 And, yes, I do donate whenever I can and encourage my students to do so.

“May all sentient beings be free from suffering”   The Buddha.