Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance,
and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long,
for that is to place it in time.
(No. 1 of ‘Four Quartets’) by T.S. Eliot.
In the still point is the dance, in the creative gestation between movements, in time outside of time when a window is opened and the bracing breath of Spirit washes over.
The essence of the dance, its tension, earnestness, eagerness, is present within each step, within the transition to each step, within the nanosecond of a pause between the steps.
Really? What am I missing? I experience dancing the Tango as a series of very complicated sequences, which my partner and/ or I often flub. Hopefully, we make it to the end of the tanda still friends.
Sure it is often like that. Maybe mostly like that.
But then, as with all spiritual practices, there are those openings, the fleeting awarenesses, the flashes of insight and awareness.
If …
… we slow down, take the time to pause, settle into the completed step and breathe into the moment – before we launch off into another stream of business.
This musical carousel is a sensual inhalation of Spirit.
Sometimes it feels like bliss, sometimes like eros, sometimes like affection, sometimes like weightlessness, and other times like sinking deep into the earth.
Sometimes there is no feeling at all.
Sometimes it is two people moving in beautiful, blended symmetry, an exquisitely executed sacada fit into a molinette.
Sometimes it is a moment of suspension filled by the almost imperceptible softening of the embrace or the squeezing of the hand or the pressing of cheek to cheek.
Sometimes it is just resting against another person in stillness, openness, and vulnerability.
Sometimes, “it is doing what seems impossible, dancing the silence.” Carlos Gavito.
Tango is a Koan, its meaning always evading the anxious grasp of logic, a haunting question that is only assuaged by putting flesh to the mystery.
It is a deep meditation in consort not with one’s partner but also the music and all the hosts past and present who cradle this mystery.
It is two hearts, souls, and bodies suspended in that delicate, ephemeral vapour of creative anticipation, the pregnant pause before the joyous birth.
The yearning of Tango is never satiated. Each tanda leaves one searching, longing for that which was left unrealized. We are pulled into the spell, dance it, embrace it, pause, listen, attune acutely to each sensation …
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Little Gidding, Four Quartets. T.S. Eliot
Aydan Dunnigan-Vickruck
This is such a beautiful post, Aydan. I love the stillness within a dance, the ability to hold a sense of calm and control even while moving, allowing both partners to truly listen to the music and to each other.
I appreciate those moments when a lead says, “Ooh, I should slow down, I think I rushed you,” or “Give me more frame, I do not want to lose that connection.” Those small acknowledgements show how much care and awareness live inside the dance.
The imperfections are part of what make it real, the little “oops” moments along the way. Sometimes the most beautiful part of the dance is the moment we soften and listen again.
Thanks as always for your reflections. And of course, you appreciate poetry, as well as the subtleties of dance.