tango touch

In tango as in life.
As we are in our bodies, so we are in the world. This is not just about looking good or dancing correctly; it is about embracing life.

Moments of intimacy: reflections the morning after on the night before …I thoughtfully took time to revisit the previous night’s dancing. What stuck with me, what have I kept, what opened me up emotionally and stretched my my heart, was quite surprising.

“This is about men who have taken the time to go through the humbling and scary challenge of learning to dance Tango. And whose Tango gives me huge inspiration and a feeling of oneness that lasts for days.” Guest blog, Mitra Martin. Brilliant.

Embracing your inner peacock. “Well, isn’t he a peacock?” How often have I heard that comment, or thought it? Just again this past weekend. The visiting dance instructor was a bit of a show-off, in someone’s opinion. This was an invitation to pull up all the judgements and prejudices that that remark brings to mind: flamboyant, attention-seeking, flashy dressed, prancing about, chest out. Dare I  say “effeminate?” So what is it about peacocks that serve as a deplorable model for men?Preening, prancing, strutting one’s stuff is what we might expect – even welcome – from a woman. Women are encouraged to give special attention to how they walk; dress exotically or erotically; chest out, stomach in. If you got it, flaunt it. But with men it is the opposite. Walking like a dancer, back straight, chest out, is considered putting on airs and setting oneself up for getting taken down a peg or two. Remember those terrifying bubble-gum wrappers? The scrawny little guy is presumptuous enough to take his babe to the beach. Then the big bulky guy walks by, kicks sand in his face and takes his girl. Moral of the story: Only the buff can strut their stuff. Don’t get caught drawing attention to yourself unless you exude machismo. Peacocks are of course the exact opposite. As are dancers. All showboating aside, a dancer has to pay attention to how he walks, maintaining perfect posture. This is especially true of tango where the chest is the power centre and drives and directs the dance. Add just a little extra colour, flash, flare and you have a full-blown peacock effect. My wife and I just finished watching the Japanese movie, “Shall We Dance.” Clever, funny with a lot of stereotypical spoofs about dancing and dancers. One of the more amusing characters  is especially flamboyant, wears a toupee and lots of bling with open shirt, pivots around  every corner. When his peers notice he gets called out for being faggy and a creep. Strutting like a peacock is risky business. I am the smallest of four brothers – the runt of the litter. I learned very young, as a survival strategy, to defer to the alpha male; keep a low profile – head down and chest in – and attract as little attention as possible. After all, there is only room for one peacock in the barnyard. Is there a way to draw attention to oneself without inciting comparison and competition; without getting sand kicked in your face? Can one share the spotlight without monopolizing it? Can we not all celebrate each other’s magnificence without someone resenting it or feeling threatened? Tango offers an out. For all its showiness, the tango offers a bit of an alternative: the lead is often directed to deflect attention to the follower, creating a space for the woman to look beautiful, be the peacock. This allows the lead to sink into the background and attract less attention. This has served as a default dance style for myself, taking off any “performance pressure.” Nonetheless, I can’t shake the feeling that simply being a foil for someone else’s proficiency and beauty is a bit of a cop-out. Do I dare strut my stuff? I remember the pronounced physique of my first tango teacher. He paraded into the room, inviting everyone to take notice, but with a certain indifference. I admired his look, that self-confidence, that suave assurance, the pronounced presence. Definitely a peacock – in a good sense. But the fear and resistance to presenting one’s stuff on centre stage goes much deeper than jostling with other egos. Marion Williamson touches on this very succinctly: . … Read more

“As soon as I committed myself to simply moving, letting the inside flow out, … I entered the realm of ecstatic dance.” Gabrielle Roth, Maps to Ecstasy. Check out your reaction to this account of a ritualistic snake dance. Ed Abbey, Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness: “I happened to glance out the little window … Read more

Two things happen when we get older. One is slowing down.
Slowing down is not necessarily such a bad thing. In fact, in this age of frenzied lifestyles, it could quite well be considered a desirable, albeit much denigrated attribute.

My most memorable lessons have done more than simply manipulate choreography. They have touched something deep within.

Recently I was reminded of the passing of a dear friend. The last weeks of his life, his battle with cancer and decreasing strength portrayed him huddled under a blanket, frail but with a radiant smile. What stayed with me most vividly was the account of his almost blissful state of wonder which seemed to heighten as his strength declined.

Excuse the crudeness of the following comments but let’s face it, Easter is not exactly the family festival Hallmark makes it out to be. Check out a crucifixion flick sometime. Bloody awful (literally)! As religious festivals go, it is about as gory and gruesome as it gets. So this is a fitting time for some … Read more

Touch. A gentle art.

Those little serendipitous moments.

Encounters we weren’t expecting that brought more to us than we realized at the time.

Reflecting back, realizing how deeply we had been touched by touch, we wish perhaps that we had been more present, more aware at the time.