I Danced

 This post is a bit different from others that appear on this blog, however, I think the message is an important one for those of us who come from abusive or difficult backgrounds.  So often the music of our lives is silenced and we forget that we were born to thrive and yes, to dance.  Reconnecting to our lost selves involves learning to hear the music again and to dare to dance.  There is hope beyond the despair of what has happened to us so turn the music up and let's dance!

In the religious tradition that I grew up in, dancing was very much taboo and frowned upon.  My dad insisted that I be excluded from a square-dancing section of a physical education class when I was in school.  "Dancing" in the context of a religious concert was ok because it was considered to be an act of "worship."  But dancing with another in a religious concert was not ok.  Then it was about connecting with another human rather than an expression of a desire to connect with God.

Recently I went to my first secular (gasp) rock concert featuring a cover band for Grateful Dead music.  

The crowd included older "deadheads" as well as a younger crowd who enjoy the music of the 60's and 70's.  As I looked around the room, I was overwhelmed by the kindness, generosity, inclusivity, acceptance and joy I saw.  People were accommodating of each other and human connections abounded.  The thought occurred to me that Papa God would feel more at home in that crowd than in most churches.  So, I danced.

• Even with three left feet and a body unaccustomed to moving to the music, I danced.
• I danced with someone I care about and the shared connection to the music and our bodies was intoxicating.
• I danced for the sheer joy of being human, of being in a room with other humans--of joining in our shared humanity.
• I danced with joy and not quite abandonment (yet).
• I celebrated the connection that dancing creates between one's body and spirit.
• I danced as an embodiment of my complete selfhood and joyfully expressed that embodiment.
• By dancing, I gave myself over to the joy of being present with others in a shared experience of music and connection.
• By dancing, I entered fully into the joyful expression of others--a shared connection and intimacy.

I know why I haven't danced to this point in my life, but I vow to continue to dance with joy and with intentionality from this point forward.  I'm going to keep dancing in spite of bad knees, an aching back and arthritic stiffness.  I want to dance until the day I die.  I want to dance alone, with a significant other and with the larger gathering humanity.  And really, isn't connecting with one another one of the main ways that we connect with God, as we know her?  

Shall we dance?

The Death of a Relationship

In re-reading my journal recently, I found this old entry that I want to share; maybe it will mean something to you, my readers.

What is it like when a relationship dies?

When love turns to apathy

When passion quietly flickers out?

Can you point to a specific day

or catalog one event that hammers the final nail in the coffin?

 

Maybe sometimes this is the case.

 

But it seems more often the effects

of many days and nights spent alone

of responsibilities and interests that take priority.

The culmination of fights and disagreements over petty things

While the elephant in the room is overlooked.

 

He wants solitude; she wants intimacy.

He wants words of affirmation; she wants quality time.

He focuses on work and career; she focuses on hearth and home.

The kids grow up and leave the nest.

Life doesn’t change for him; it changes radically for her.

 

All those years of runny noses, dirty diapers, squabbles and money woes;

One thing kept her going:  they would one day return to a world of two.

One day the house would be theirs alone once more.

One day there would be time to rediscover what drew them together in the beginning.

One day they would have the time to fall in love all over again.

 

Maybe sometimes this is the case.

 

But not if he wants solitude and she wants intimacy.

She can’t affirm and speak lovingly when her heart is breaking with loneliness.

His focus is still outward looking; but while she surveys the horizons of possibilities and potential, her heart is still anchored to home and hearth—to him.

The kids are gone, making lives for themselves.

She desperately wants life to change for them but he is content with the life he has created for himself.

 

What is it like when a relationship dies?

Death. Solitude. Aloneness. Loneliness. Sadness.

There is no body to lovingly put to rest and memorialize—no closure.

There is no date to mark the end, just an endless maze of days trying to breathe, trying to survive the crushing grief.

And not being able to talk to the one person you want most to talk to:  the one who has been the most significant person in your life; the one you are used to going to with joys and sorrows.

 

How does one move forward while still tethered to deadness?

How does one learn to live as a single while still married?

How does one create a new life when the old one is what you want?

How does one survive emotionally when reminded daily of what has been lost?

I don’t know, do you?