This morning my son woke me up asking me to come back to
dance camp. “Why did you want to leave Dance Camp, mamãe? You didn’t like it
there?” I wish all life, everyday, could be like dance camp, my son, my sun.
Dance camp was where I decided to celebrate my 34th
birthday, less than a month ago. We spent 4 unforgettable days in this National
Park smack in the middle of California, in a sunny, rolling green hills
sanctuary. Dozens of classes to choose from: yoga, contact improvisation,
barefoot boogie, African, trapeze, you name it. Anything fun and interesting
was available within a trail path's reach. I’ve made instant friends that I
hope to see again in many dance floors. My son spent memorable mornings and
afternoons at a Kids camp with lovely teachers. We had delicious organic
vegetarian meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner and even the mandatory 3 hours
service was like an exhilarating experience (I did food prep at the kitchen).
When it came time to leave, and we had to leave before the camp officially
ended, my son was protesting. Well, what can I say? Hopefully, next year we’ll
come back. The biggest experience that I’ve brought from there was to finally
get to know 5 Rhythms. The very first class I had was a “Sweat your Prayers”
and boy, the last time I remember having this spiritual amplification through
dancing was a long time ago, perhaps in Bahia’s carnival, dancing in the middle
of Olodum drummers. Meditation through movement, losing oneself in dance.
Sounds Sufi, sounds witchery. When you
become nothing and everything and you can only feel the energy of the many
moving bodies responding to the same rhythm. Since I arrived back home I’ve got
a movie, some songs and a book, all about the 5 Rhythms creator, Gabrielle Roth.
I am trying to learn how she got there, how she came upon such insight. I don’t
even know if I really need to understand it. I only need to have this
experience once again.
In Roth’s book “Sweat Your Prayers: Movement as Spiritual
Practice”, I’ve found a poem that resonates a lot with the way I am feeling (right now I am in one of those why-not-just-move-to-the-country-
raise-chicken-and-be-a-yoga- teacher-in-my-own-barnyard-turned-studio weeks) …
(P.S.:That is how I usually call my PMS weeks)...
The poem was written by one of Gabrielle’s students, Jewel
Mathieson…. and I would like to share it with all of you…
“The Search for the Feminine in My Bones”
I collected them all, found every bone
except I couldn’t find my hand, my hand
my mother had it
her calloused hard hitting hands have held me
gripping my spirit
she seized my hand at six
stripped it of innocence and grace
she severed my hand at seven
I found it again in a dry riverbed pointing North
this hand that has the most number of bones
fragments of bones, joints and articulation
I can’t open it
I have my hand now
I can pray
I can pray again
I turn to the Goddess, pray for forgiveness
She says “there is no forgiveness because there are no sins”
She places God on the tips of my fingers
on the tips of my toes
and tells me that everyone has to learn how to pray
in their own way
in their own way with everything, everywhere
I collected them all, found every splintered bone
every piece of myself
now I dance flinging my bones to the floor
like the I Ching
like the I Ching each time I hit the floor
I’m different