On the brighter side of Imbolc, I notice that the sun is creeping back to the dark side of this rolling valley. Last week I joyfully observed a small section of green studio roof catching tendrils of light. When it reaches the patio, we’re having a sun-dance.
This dance of seasons begins to awaken the body. I write from a body stiff and sore from a changeable and difficult 2022; a year that took a lot of work mentally and physically. Work that continues. It is a body which regrets abandoning yoga and movement practices for a few months, yet somehow seems to be accessing a new fluidity through the discomfort.
I think it was around October last year when I became aware of tensing up physically. A strange new pain began to permeate my upper body and arms, and I realised I was clenching my jaw. Whether these were new sensations, or something that had always been there (and had begun to surface), I cannot say. The only thing I knew was that things had to change, and if this carried on my body and mind might be in real trouble.
A new dialogue began between this discomfort and I. Slowly, gently I began to try and soften it; to consciously dissolve the tightness, and start moving again in ways that weren’t trying so hard to make concrete things happen. Stretching and yoga returned to my days, along with hot baths, and the tension began to shift.
“In order to change, people need to become aware of their sensations and the way that their bodies interact with the world around them. Physical self-awareness is the first step in releasing the tyranny of the past.” ― The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma
Dancing came back into my weekly life very recently, and a new interest in movement therapy (from further afield and more locally). Creative movement offers ways to dance differently with tension or pain, to express emotions and find release. As someone who has hovered on the colourless cusp of mental health medication, dance reminds me that the medicine is in our own bodies and what wants to move through them. The lime trees which boundary our local graveyard shed their leaves in Winter, revealing the way they really move. Different to the verdant swaying of summer or graceful fallings into autumn, Winter’s dance is stark, fundamental.
“In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed, they would ask one of four questions: "When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by stories? When did you stop being comforted by the sweet territory of silence?” ― Gabrielle Roth
At age 12 I gave up dance. I didn’t want to take my exams because we had to wear leotards, and I was a self-conscious, early developing young person. I felt so very embarrassed using my arms expressively. Many girls are not brought up to believe they should take up space. Living in London, it was in my late 20s when I found the ‘big hippy disco’ world of ecstatic dance. This can be good dancing, when the music is good (which it sadly isn’t always), and not too spiritually prescriptive. The point is, at the time this was an alcohol and drug free way to enjoy dance without getting trashed at a nightclub or party. New. Body. Experience.
The ecstatic dance scene is fun, but doesn’t quite hit the spot if I’m honest. I have loved the bits of contemporary and improvisation dance I’ve experienced, the creativity and freedom in these forms draw maps to unimaginably fascinating places. The dance world is currently under a lot of criticism for calling dancers over 35 ‘older dancers’. I can testify that at 40 it is possible to re-write the scripts of one’s own body, or begin to navigate routes around those permanent, embedded features. As a trained yoga and movement teacher, I thought I was ‘embodied’ five years ago. The surface had only been lightly scratched. Our bodies constantly reveal layers of newness and surprise, if we let them do their thing outside conventional narratives of ageing and life.
“Energy moves in waves. Waves move in patterns. Patterns move in rhythms. A human being is just that, energy, waves, patterns, rhythms. Nothing more. Nothing less. A dance.” ― Gabrielle Roth, Sweat Your Prayers
The nutshell I offer here is that our awareness in terms of movement can constantly evolve. For the interested, I can also share some past yoga and movement videos on youtube. Excuse the sound clunks, high-tech is not my style and my breathing isn’t heavy in real life!
An artist friend who identifies as disabled recently commented that her movements seem small to a lot of people, but feel really big to her. What can we learn from each other’s bodies, and how to overcome destructive ableist patterns of busyness? Now I know I inhabit a queer body, it is somehow a little easier to move in the world. Women are often conditioned to move for men, and on occasions vice versa. The dance moves us beyond binaries, in the subtlest yet most powerful of ways. I write this as an able-bodied white woman, aware that in some ways her movements in the world contain ease and privilege. Gabrielle Roth (founder of five rhythms dance wrote “if you have a body, you are a dancer”. The world of inclusive dance contains maps for moving in different types of bodies.
I write this for a change, as my last few posts have been very walking-centric. We don’t have to physically go for a walk to go on a new journey, and it is fun to make life less linear. Moving creatively in outdoors spaces is playfully anarchic, a way to come into new relationship with our surroundings. Nature is the ultimate dance teacher; observe the choreography of trees in the wind. What if we were to gift our bodies with sensations of falling leaves, the collective connectivity of starlings or the slow growth of lichens and moss? You might also like to check out the Walk With Me series of videos, which combine walking with multimedia art ideas. Project Shapeshift may also be of interest; a collaboration with Jamila Walker which combines creative movement and art prompts.
If these words inspire you in any way to move differently, do let me know by commenting or writing back. If you’re local to North Wales, look out for the re-emergence of Dancing Circles (dance nights cooked up with friends, a project which has been sleeping for some time). The name was inspired by a Russian folk song. I shall leave you with the words…
If we people lived our lives
As if they were a song
For singing out the light
We’d inspire the music for the stars
To be dancing circles in the night
This has been Words & Wanderings. If you’re able to support this publication financially (and my journey as an independent writer), follow the subscribe button below. You can also sign up for free and receive occasional emails. I also appreciate anyone who wants to spread the love and share this newsletter! Thank you so much for reading, and see you next month for more meandering.
Fabulous, Emily. I can't dance at the moment because of dizziness (long story) but am hoping very much to take my dizzy body circle dancing again before too long!