“Of course! the path to heaven
doesn’t lie down in flat miles.
It’s in the imagination
with which you perceive
this world,
and the gestures
with which you honor it.
– “The Swan,” Mary Oliver….
Perilous Pretense.
Tango is a dance of smoke and mirrors, an embodied metaphor for what goes on at other times in other places. A mystical moment shrouded in the blissful mist of a warm embrace.
Or, just as likely, an innocent intent shattered by a spurned glance or an errant kick to the shins.
All the vulnerabilities, risks and yearnings of life condensed into the choreographed twists of a ten-minute tanda.
But then isn’t most of life a pretense, a tenuous weaving of hopes and dreams, fantasies and disillusionment? Lasting longer than a tanda certainly, but any less ephemeral or illusory?
The Cabaceo.
I cast my glance across the dance floor. My intended partner returns my cabaceo with a nod or raised eyebrow, (God forbid an askance glare!). I take my first perilous step away from the comforting anonymity of my seat in the corner and wade out into the unknown.
As I approach my partner my fears and expectations churn:
Am I crazy?
Is this worth the risk?
Will I walk away feeling elegant, suave, and sophisticated? Humiliated?
Cut! PTSD. A flashback to my first “open-market” Tango in Buenos Aires. My carefully curated encounter ended after the first song with my partner storming off the floor in rage, leaving my fragile ego ground under her 3” stiletto heels.
Imagination and Gestures.
OK. I am overdramatizing everything, but …
“the path to heaven doesn’t lie down in flat miles. It’s in the imagination with which you perceive this world, and the gestures with which you honor it.”
As I said, tango is a metaphor. Or rather a sacrament into which we infuse extra meaning into the ordinary so that everything may be experienced as extraordinary.
A little context: I participate in a small dance community in northern Canada, 10,000 kilometres away from the motherland. We share none of the perilous social dynamics that make cabaceos a necessary mixing strategy. Here, everyone knows everyone well enough to know: “Will she or won’t she?” You walk over and ask that special person directly, without all the fear and trepidation.
Calling all Angels.
Where do we fit in the imagination, the gestures with which to honour this gallant and daring rapprochement?
My experience?
Familiarity has not bred contempt. Every close encounter is intimate, alive, charged, exciting. No matter where we are dancing or with whom, there is always the vulnerability, the risk, the invitation to a raw awakening.
Whether across the marbled floor or only 3 feet away is another exquisitely crafted, playful, creative, sensual, warm-bodied person opening herself up in like manner to this adventure.
My imagination anticipates honouring this sacred engagement with the delicate gestures of holding out a hand, eye contact, a smile, snuggling into an embrace.