When you Pray, Move your feet.

“When you pray, move your feet.”
– West African proverb

After 9/11 I danced. Before 9/11 I also danced. After we started bombing Iraq, I danced again through tears, dancing out the horror and pain of the women, children and all the people who suffered through that.
Still dancing these days, always wanting to do more, but only managing random moments here and there. I miss the dance classes and a studio space to gather in with other kindred Goddess dancers.
When I returned here, to this place where family still resided, where I’d spent some of my growing up years, it was a broken time for me, for my kids, for our little family. Many times I question the sanity of my return here. In hindsight, the evil twin of foresight, would I do it again? Personally? I hope to Goddess not. But my story for Vermont will have to wait until another day.

This is my Dancer story. I never thought of myself as a dancer…or a writer, for that matter…until I moved back here. My long-time friend from my library days turned me on to Raks Sharqi or Raks Baladi. Westerners know it as “belly dance” but “Khadijah” (our teacher) despised the term and it’s a perfect example of how the language we use does matter. (Too many equate the dance with stripping, and while it can be an erotic dance, it is not a striptease.) It can feel almost sacred sometimes. Khadija did say that perhaps it came to be known as belly dance because of the misinterpretation of “baladi”— “raks”meaning “dance” and “baladi” or ”folk.” At any rate, I found my way to her Egyptian dance class, and before long she had me dancing with the rest of the Kharamana Dance Troupe at the monthly Evenings in Egypt she hosted every month at the coolest, now defunct but memorable Prodigal Son Coffeehouse/Bar.  It was always a fun evening, full of friends, family (kids included), other dancers, fans and curious passers-by. 
Writing this takes me right back to the magic and mystery, the wonder and sense of discovery of those days, my reawakening as I began following the path of the Goddess Dancing. When words fail me, I dance. And dancing always helps me find the words again. So round and round we go. Dancing my own curious circle dance in a place with no beginnings and no endings.

Caveat: by the way, photos are recent from when I was playing with my coin belts. They are NOT representative of what I wore dancing with the troupe.😊

Author: Dame

an evolving story, wanting to live a slower life right here and now...reconnections, new connections, and now connections are my passion...phone calls, tea dates and letters preferred over emails...

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