Skip to main content

Sacred Geometry

The Dance Complex is an establishment in Cambridge, operating for decades with six floors of dance studios and the most eclectic variety of classes you could possibly imagine. They have everything from break dancing to salsa to organic ballet, which must entail hemp leotards, right? And with a cheap drop-in, pay as you go option, it’s the perfect excuse to experiment with one of the many dancing hybridizations they offer. So experiment I did—with a course in tribal belly dancing.

The Harvard Gazette recently published an article on staying sane, in which Laura Kubzansky, HSPH associate professor of society, human development, and health, wrote, “Everyone needs to find a way be in the moment, to find a restorative state that allows them to put down their burdens.” Dance is one of those exceptional activities that transfixes my mind long enough to forget itself. Sometimes I am completely suspended by the challenge of learning a new move, captivated by a new pattern of subtle twists and body isolations. Other times, usually after much practice, the dance becomes an intuitive expression that performs itself, without any effort or consciousness on my part. Like spinning a hula hoop, I could go for days. Either way, I am fully present to the moment.

It was during one of these ultra focused moments that my belly dancing teacher said something that would disrupt my whole world in an instant. “This next move mirrors the symbol for eternity, akin to a figure eight.” She demonstrated the weaving motion, and then added, “It’s as if you are tracing eternity with your hips.”

My heart raced, and a million tiny hairs stood on end, saluting some basic truth that they have always known. This was the most delicious poetry I had ever tasted. And, yet, it was intended for so much more than my lips.

She continued, lyrically improvising the figure eight sway and the meaning embodied by it: “People may not recognize this consciously, but it is intended to speak to the latent yearnings for eternity. We are enacting a kind of sacred geometry with our bodies.”

Now if that doesn’t implode every tidy category of the sacred and profane, the mind and the body, the spirit and the flesh, I do not know what will. It purposefully disrupts any notion that we have about spiritual enlightenment belonging to the intellectual or mental sphere alone, because it insists that our bodies, without external direction, naturally grope towards eternal truths. All of which is to say, I think if I want to become more adept recognizing real wisdom, than I ought to listen to what my body is saying. And if I want this wisdom to take real effect in my life, through my actions, attitudes and behavior, well then, I’ve got to keep on whirling!

Comments

  1. Love, love this post. I have loved belly dancing for as long as I can remember, having mostly practiced at home, and having taken a couple of classes officially (being shy). Never considered Tribal, but after your post, will put this on my list of explorations.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks very much, Lorna. I wish you many great dances and trust that you presence on the floor is bound to empower other women to join you!

    ReplyDelete
  3. this sites web page design is very nice and its photos are also too.Its commenting system with google account is very very fine,we have a site of ancient geometry
    for more information just click here.
    thanks.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Another Reflection on Breaking-Up

It’s happening again.   One of my good friends is on the other end of a telephone call, holding back tears as she recounts the details of her recent break-up. She is a strong, fiercely independent woman, who has counseled and coached the rest of us through the emotional train wreck of many collective break-ups.   Two years ago, she told me, “Maggi, when you end a relationship, you find yourself waking up every morning to a dull heart-ache perched upon your chest and you really, really believe your world is over.”   You roll yourself out of bed anyway. You make the route cup of coffee.   You stumble into the shower and let the steam swell around you.   If you’re feeling especially lifeless, you drape your hair over your ears, so that the cascade of hot water makes a deep rushing sound, like being swept beneath the sea to a powerfully calm, fetal state of being, where the roar of running water drowns out all the piercing thoughts in your head.   You...

Listening to the Radio: A New Year's Resolution

If I were to make any resolution for the New Year, and these are seldom, I would listen for the year as I listen to a newly discovered song. Just the other day I was driving along the 5 freeway; on my left, the sun guiding the Pacific, and on my right, Oceanside’s famous stretch of mustard fields. These are just the kinds of drives that lull me into a meditative trance, that dispel the doggedly anxious thoughts from my mind and allow me the simple pleasure of being in the world. There is nothing else to do in the car but drive, and while this made me crazy with boredom as a child, it has since become a favored form of contemplation. Even my radio listening habits must adapt to these long drives. Because I am crossing multiple county lines, my go-to stations become static, and I am forced to explore the uncharted musical airwaves. And because I hold no expectations for what I will discover there, my reception of the unknown changes. I wait with curiosity for a song to unfold. I...

The First Negotiation

The morning light licks the corners of my face, repeatedly, until I consent to opening my eyes. She makes her gradual way across the bed, nudging her most promising sign of hope unto the tossled ivory. The sun is far more gentle than any alarm clock I’ve ever fought, though no less insistent. In such radiant self-giving, how many times can I roll over? So we strike a compromise: I will flip my pillow and “rest” my head, but promise to keep my eyes a flutter, little windows parted slightly for the streams of her still light. Sometimes I up the bargain, telling her that there is really no better way to receive her glory, no greater praise of her warmth, than to surrender consciousness upon her lap, just a little. She will often reply by shedding new light upon the floor, warming a most suggestive path out into the kitchen. My stomach grumbles. Are you sure you don’t want to try freezing time again? I ask. You, me and the sheets, forever curled in our secret morning splendor...