The DJ is Drunk

Still We Came to be Danced

Every once in a while, I have to remind myself what a fearless dancer I am. And I so by looking at these pictures. Because sometimes, it is really hard to dance.

There are days, weeks, even months when navigating a particularly horrible soundtrack, one that can’t be improved, with even my best drops, dips and gyrations. I find myself inventing new moves fresh choreography for the tougher turns. Especially when life insists on playing songs I never would have chosen.

Let’s face it, sometimes life’s playlist leaves much to be desired.

As much as I wish, it’s not all love songs. There are long stretches of silence, ambient noise, the sound of people chewing, and songs that grate against the soul. There are ballads of suffering, hour-long dirges of weeping, haunted sobbing that somehow swing into an anthem.

I am not sure if you noticed, but I am pretty sure that the DJ is drunk.

How does anyone dance to that?

And yet, this is the assignment, and sometimes, like the ugly cry, we just have do to the ugly dance. The ugly dance is the one nobody posts on Instagram. It is less Swan Lake and more cat-meets-bathtub. Clenched jaw. Trembling hands. Stomach in knots. It is flailing, negotiating, bargaining, and breaking and breathtaking, because of the willingness to surrender and be danced.

Sometimes the dance is ridiculous, painful, awkward, and holy all at once. Because although you know that you did not pick the music, you were chosen to be the dancer. And so you do.

This morning, one of my students shared the following poem with me. It arrived just as I was surrounded by a thousand echoes of Why? How come? Who can we blame? Will I survive? Will anyone survive? What is all this for?

The poem didn’t answer any of those questions. Instead, it reminded me of something deeper. We came to be danced.

Some days it looks like an exuberant celebration of high kicks and jazz hands.

Some days it looks like a deep and prolong genuflection with no irony in sight.

Some days it looks like a fluid extension and other days it looks as vacant and placid as breath.

Today, I needed the reminder… Despite the shitty sound track, I came to be danced.

Love, Maur

Check out the poem below and the invitations. Enjoy dessert and I hope to see you on the dance floor working you awesome moves.

We Have Come To Be Danced

By Jewel Mathieson

We have come to be danced.

Not the pretty dance .

Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance .

But the claw our way back into the belly .

Of the sacred, sensual animal dance .

The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance .

The holding the precious moment in the palms.

Of our hands and feet dance.

We have come to be danced .

Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance.

But the wring the sadness from our skin dance .

The blow the chip off our shoulder dance.

The slap the apology from our posture dance.

We have come to be danced .

Not the monkey see, monkey do dance .

One two dance like you .

One two three, dance like me dance but the grave robber, tomb stalker.

Tearing scabs and scars open dance .

The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance.

We have come to be danced.

Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle.

But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama .

Shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance .

The strip us from our casings, return our wings.

Sharpen our claws and tongues dance .

The shed dead cells and slip into.

The luminous skin of love dance.

We have come to be danced.

Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance .

But the meeting of the trinity, the body breath and beat dance .

The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance .

The mother may I? Yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance.

The olly olly oxen free free free dance.

The everyone can come to our heaven dance.

We have come to be danced .

Where the kingdom’s collide.

In the cathedral of flesh .

To burn back into the light .

To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray.

To root in skin sanctuary

We have come to be danced.

We have come.

by Jewel Mathieson

Dessert

Here is the Poet Jewel Mathieson performing the poem, We came to Be Danced.

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