AND THEN, THE WORST THING HAPPENED: NOBODY SHOWED UP – 10/20/17

So, unless you have been living under a rock, (or we just don’t know each other, or you don’t participate in any of the social medias, or you have been busy, or out of town, or at work, or eating a snack) you are aware of a new movement medicine offering that I started last week called MOGA, which stands for Mo’s Yoga.  

FIRST CLASS - Photo credit Maryam Roberts

Our first class took place on 10/10/17, and we had a good size crowd of 19 yogis.  I was thrilled, though I knew that exactly HALF of that number came from one friend, her family and the friends she invited.  I had anticipated that the second class wouldn’t be as well attended - 6 people showed up - and then there was the unexpected and unfortunate venue change I had to manage after the first week.

Class #3: three people showed up, including my roommate, so that doesn’t really count, does it.  I mean, I guess it does kinda count since it was a body I was teaching, but he showed up more for me than for himself.  

And class #4?  Nobody.  Nobody showed up.  Zero attendees.  Nada, nothing, no one.  And I had my 14 year old Sun doing my door and told him he could come up at 7:10.  And at 7:10 he came up, walked straight to me and gave me the warmest, most wonderful hug.  

And you might think that zero attendance would motivate me to re-think whether this is really something that I should be pursuing…I mean, if I was on the outside looking IN, I would certainly wonder whether NOW is the time to throw in the proverbial towel.  But now is NOT the time, my brothers and sisters.  And quite honestly, MOGA has become somewhat of an obsession for me, and the idea of failure doesn’t seem like much of an alternative.  At least not a good one.   Because I think movement medicine is needed right now in our world, in a big, big way.  And, thanks to the few die-hard fans of mine who continue to tell me how much they appreciate what I do, I am not stopping, nope.  Re-tooling, maybe, but I am not stopping.  At least not yet.  Ask me again in a couple of months.

a reminder i wrote on my livingroom chalkboard 3 months before class started.  i mean, i obvs. still AM attached to the result, but think of it more as a *mantra*

Over the past several years, I have developed this theory about LIFE.  And it goes something like this: each and every one of us has a special skill (we may even have MORE than one, but I happen to have one, and that is movement/touch), and our job, our duty, our obligation is to DISCOVER this special skill.  And if we are fortunate enough to have the time, space, patience, fortitude to discover our special skill, then we must offer it to the world.  That’s it, that’s all there is to it - we MUST.  It’s quite simple, but it’s not easy.  Because when one offers themselves up to the world, especially to the world we currently live in, with its negativity, stress, darkness, despair, then we also open ourselves up to *rejection*.  And even though this may not be what is truly happening (the rejection part), I am an adoptee.  And as an adoptee, because I experienced what felt like the ultimate rejection at a time when I didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling, nor did I have my mother there to hold me and tell me that everything was going to be ok, this is EXACTLY what it feels like in my heart. 

a reminder i wrote on my livingroom chalkboard 2 weeks before class started.

So – I am learning how to take in what feels like rejection, hold it in my heart, and transmute that into something else – determination, drive, joy, even humor.  Because everything IS going to be OK.  I just may need to re-tool just a bit.  Perhaps my target market is off, perhaps my music, perhaps it just needs time.  

The other day, after day #2 when I went crying to a beautifully supportive friend of mine about the difference in class size between the first and the second (little did I know I was in for far greater disappointment) she offered me this from one of her mentors, Tony Robbins: “We overestimate what we can accomplish in one year and underestimate what we can accomplish in five years.”

So yeah...looks like I am taking the long game approach on this one.  Because my goal with this offering is to assist each and every one of my students with moving into FULL EMBODIMENT…that place where we live - and thrive - FULLY in our bodies, staying connected to these vehicles that house our minds and souls.  And full embodiment is our birthright, yet it remains so elusive for many of us.  Especially those of us (like myself) who, as James Joyce says in the opening pages of his short Story A Painful Case:  “Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.”

This was me.  Most of my life.  Until I found yoga.  I came into the practice of yoga when Tre was in my belly.  I stayed for the movement medicine; the new ways I was learning to explore and connect with my physical body, the skills I was developing to help me work with the mind THROUGH the physical body, and I would say that I have the fiercest “monkey mind” of anyone that I know.  And when I practice asana (pose/posture), that monkey mind gets quiet for a bit…and what a relief that is!  Phew, right?!? A little piece of mind, ffs!

I began to take my practice seriously in 2014, and became a teacher in 2015.  And when I found that I was able to assist OTHERS in getting re-connected with their own bodies, my heart began to soften, and soften, and soften.  I mean, that’s really what it’s all about as far as I am concerned – helping others to help themselves.  

So MOGA will be around for a while, and I hope that those of you who have not made their way to a class will eventually make it – and those who have come will come back, again and again.  Because I guarantee you, re-connecting with your body will be the best thing you ever did for yourself.  The best.  

MOVEMENT IS MEDICINE.  Dose up…over and over and over again.  

OAKLAND'S BEAUTIFUL DRUM CIRCLE - 10/1/17

So if a video of today's drum circle near the pillars of Lake Merrit somehow manages to make its way onto the interwebs, and you see the beautiful dance circle inside the drum circle, made of up 5 beautiful women, of all varying shades of beautiful color....you can totally pick me out - as the dancer who is...just slightly off.  most of the time.  every once in a while I'M ON! and then...i'm off again.

And its not because I CAN'T dance.  Really, its not.  You should see me when i'm in my "element" i'm fierce, trust me.  I'm even developing my own style of dance called "Nefertiting" (after the Egyptian queen Nefertiti). Just ask the 14 year old son...he will vouch for me.

Actually, don't ask him.  He's not *fully sold* on this idea yet.  Right now he doesn't like it at all.

Let's just say...you could call me the classic case of the person who is (most) often found "dancing to the beat of my own drum."

me dancing "to the beat of my own drum".

me dancing to the "beat of my own drum" while my brother and sister look on, with obvious envy and jealousy. 

 

me dancing to "the beat of my own drum" while sibling gets increasingly jealous (or bored) and goes to read a book.

So let me now provide you with a little bit of context about why it was ME who was that lone dancer today, who just "couldn't quite get with the program" the other beautiful sisters were laying down: you see - I am more of a free-styler (you couldn't tell that from all of the preceding evidence i have provided, could you?) and THIS today was West African dance.  Which has a very specific style, with very specific moves and sequences. And rules.   I will try and paraphrase those rules for you now...of course, through my own personal lens, which obvs. has an impact on my interpretation of said rules, but what the hell, gotta start from somewhere.  For example, there is the traditional formation of all of the dancers in a moving circle, all of the dancers "falling in line" in beautiful formation, imitating the move that "the leader" is currently doing, whomever that leader may currently be.  Because i am pretty certain that the "leader" is supposed to trade off...like everyone is supposed to get a turn to pick a move.  Which sounds a lot like how we used to do it in elementary school.  Except in THIS case, it is important to know the basic styles/movements of West African dance.  And do them.  Which i don't.  Either one of those.  Perhaps some of the very basic ones, and i am better at the few i DO know when I get to pick and choose when my body does them.  But when someone ELSE is choosing when and how the moves are done, and for how long, and i am already a bit shaky (for various and layered reasons), well that's where things tend to get a bit dicey.  Especially when it's "my turn" to lead.   Or at least, when i "think" its my turn.  Today, there were several occasions when i thought it was "my turn" to lead, but nobody else followed me, so obviously i mis-judged that...over and over and over again.  And also because none of the moves i did were in anybody's lexicon of acceptable moves to have the group follow, i suppose.  Like i said, i am quite certain that those have already been decided in advance.

And then, smack dab in the middle of "i don't belong here right now", is the opportunity, in this particular West African dance tradition, there is a designated time and a place, for each dancer to shine all on her own..to do her "own thing."  One by one, each dancer makes their way to the center of the circle and gets her turn to show off her special dance to an appreciating audience of drummers and spectators (and by now that spectator circle has grown quite large).

So - you would naturally assume the that THIS PART wouldn't be a problem for me, right?  You would think that THIS PART would be the part that i was really looking forward to, after having had to endure the painful art of following the group through a series of moves that are not familiar to me.  

And if you would have thought that, you would have been wrong.  Because NOW, now that I have had my confidence shaken to its very core...there's not a snowballs chance in Hades (or any other extremely uncomfortable situation) that my body is just going to STOP listening to the myriad of  haywire signals my brain has been sending to it (yes i'm pretty much having an out-of-body experience at this point), and start listening to itself and just "do its own thing".  No way. No. Way.

In this sacred circle, somehow - i  have allowed myself to be taken out of my own groove, and am having a really difficult time getting the needle to stay steady, or to re-thread properly....so i can patch the whole and pull my pants back up.

And then finally, mercifully, the circle of dancers breaks up, setting all of us free to express ourselves however we choose, but i'm afraid today's damage has been done...in front of what was quite a substantial crowd, with several active cameras and videos recording this indigenous ritual of the drum circle.

Where the drummers inspire the dancers...but it's really the dancers inspiring the drum - imho. 

 So it's been catalogued, yeah.   

And as much as i know that when i enter the dance circle, I'm heading straight into the "belly of the beast" that beast being the public exposition all of my inner demons and insecurities about being "the worst" dancer in the room (which was often the case in my teens and 20's when i would go out dancing with my black girlfriends),  I still keep pushing myself to participate.  Just participate.  Because that's the only way i am ever going to learn.  That's the only way i'm gonna get to "belong", to feel like i belong, in that circle, with those other women.

And how i desperately "want" to belong to that circle...I want to show them that i, too, can play this game.  That i'm not some, some "interloper", or worse, some "imposter" in their game.  This, even as i remember the role i have played in this particular game all of my life.  And then, that added to the fact that i am just not a natural "follower".  That's probably why i am terrified of salsa dancing.   You reeeeeallllyyyy need to let go, trust, and learn how to follow.

Nor would i say that I am a natural "leader", though i have been told this before...mostly in school, where i tended to lead the pack in this type of easily-codified performance exercise.  I could outshine the *best* of them just by memorizing a few lines.  Then dumping those lines to make space for the the new ones.

I would say now that I prefer just to "do my own thing", which i can fairly guess is a product of the chameleon-like skill set i have developed living as a bi-racial person in an increasingly black and white world.  At least on its surface.

Bi-racial people are the perfect example of that common, old adage about life never being just "black and white", though it often appears as such.  It's shades of grey.  And, if you're paying close, close attention, ever-rich and colorful shades of gray...subtle shades, too.

So I will keep pushing myself up towards the edge of that dance circle - testing my strength, mustering all of my courage - knowing that all i ever have to do to belong is tap into the awareness that the fastest and most direct route to that place is in the letting go of, over and over and over again, the conscious effort of "getting there".

Because I'm already there, there, right?!?  Isn't this what I have been told/have read by some very smart ppl on a number of occasions?  Why the f#ck cant i seem to get this particular lesson?

I NEED ANSWERS, PPL!!!

I already belong.  And i also dance to the beat of my own drum.  And, as i continue to shed the idea that I will ever dance "as good as" her, or her, or him, it is THEN and ONLY THEN that I will truly find my own phenomenal dance.

I'm getting there.

Plus i need to take some West African dance classes.  Just being able to keep up would be nice.

update 10/2/17: i have just woken up at 5.m. the next morning thinking about all of the West African dances i didn't do yesterday. :o/

AND THEN...HE GROPED ME.

me being better in person.

*editor's note: photos were taken at midnight last night during a flash of brilliance ( brought on by a wee bit of insomnia and significant hunger pains) that these visual aids would definitely enhance your understanding of what actually went down that night.  

                   ✻                       ✻                       ✻

He (and when i say "he" i am referring to his online profile) was quite mysterious…only photos, no words.  After sending a couple of idiosyncratic texts to him, he informed me that he was French…to which I replied that we probably shouldn’t be texting each other back and forth like this because all of my cleverness would most likely be *lost in translation* on this forum.  i'm really better in person, anyway.

So we decided to meet for coffee the next day.  Which was nice.  He was a very beautiful man, not actually from France originally; born in the West African country of Senegal and then moved to France in his later years (high school or college i would guess) for school.  He moved to the United States a couple of years ago for additional schooling.  So I’m not certain why he needed to present himself as French versus Senegalese…more perceived appeal re: the "sexy frenchman" stereotype?  just a guess.

We talked at the café for about an hour and a half, during which time I learned he had been married twice and had fathered four kids, all of whom lived with their mothers.  In response, I mentioned my lack of desire to ever get married again, in addition to my desire to explore the potential for open/alternative relationships... 

He was not impressed.  We spend the last 30 minutes of our time together discussing how/why a situation where his significant other was seeing other people would be extremely upsetting for him. And didn’t I understand this?!? Well, he didn't really say that last part; it was more like a *look*, coupled by the tone in which he said "extremely upsetting".

And then - we parted ways, thanking each other for the time spent together.  It was nice…no fireworks, but I did entertain the idea of seeing him once again…if only in order to get further clarification on whether the glaring compatibility issues might be temporarily overlooked in favor of finding some sort of alternative arrangement...i don't know what i would exactly call that alternative arrangement...oh wait, yes i do. Denial. 

I heard from him several hours later that evening.  He texted me to ask if I wanted to join him for a walk around the lake.  I responded that I didn’t do much walking, but that sitting was OK for me.  So we decided to meet for dessert.  

We met, and it couldn't have been more than 5 minutes into the date when it really landed for me that he and I were not meant to be…in ANY capacity.  Nothing was going to work with this man…no configuration was possible, not even a temporary one.  For starters, we had a very difficult time understanding each other.  He speaks 7 languages, including French, English, and his native Senegalese tongue.  I, on the other hand, speak only ONE language, and often very idiomatically...some would just say *badly*, not to mention that i have started to forget words.  In other words, it’s difficult for a NATIVE English speaker to understand me, let alone someone who has English as a second (or seventh) language.  Not to mention, I tend to throw in a fake accent or two when I am REALLY feeling myself.  So, if you’re not a native English speaker, you could see how this habit of mine could work against clear communication with someone who really does have seven different accents!  And then, there was the part where he looked simply BORED with me - he kept rubbing his eyes and looking at his phone.  At one point, he pulled up photos of his former wife on his phone, to show me just how beautiful she really was, because this was the reason that he married her. The topic of beauty - his own beauty - had come about earlier, when he recollected to me his younger self, back in his pro soccer-playing days, and had pretty much had the entire field open to him.  The ex-wife was supposed to be proof of this past hey-day.  But he couldn't find the photo.  And i think he could tell i really couldn't give a rat's ass. 

me not giving a rat's ass how beautiful  his ex-wife was.

In the final analysis, he and i really just wanted different things, different relationships.  And the last time I got involved with a man under very similar circumstances (the part where we wanted different relationships) well, let’s just say it ended badly.  Really.  Badly.  So I’ve learned my lesson.  The hard way of course, but at least I did learn.  

And the first few times I mentioned to him that we just weren’t suited for each other, he immediately responded with reasons why he and I would, indeed work.  We went back and forth and around about this for a solid 20 – 30 minutes, until I was eventually quite fatigued by the whole ridiculous exchange and suggested that we wrap the night up. 

"You just grabbed my breast!"

We took a fairly awkward walk out to my bike, and when I leaned in from atop my bike to give him (what I thought) was the obligatory - if not friendly - "no hard feelings, thanks anyway” hug, he flung his right arm around my shoulder..and then groped my right breast with his other hand. 

If any of you have seen that comedy "Nurse Jackie", there is a doctor on the show who has this involuntary body-tick, where he inappropriately grabs women's breasts.  It felt sort of like that, except that my groper knew exactly what he was doing...nothing involuntary about it.  I was stunned for a moment.  And then i looked him square in the eye and said: You just grabbed my breast! (my voice going staccato on "breast!" for emphasis)  He said nothing.  And after taking a moment to collect myself, I grabbed both handlebars with gusto and determination, and rode off into the night. 

Several seconds later he called after me - ”Hey…hey!”  I didn’t turn around.  I rode like the wind to get home – and also to see if the speed could whip the violation from my body.  

What an asshole.  He texted me 30 minutes later “Have a wonderful evening”

I swear…some ppl. are simply and utterly clueless…and other ppl. suffer as a result. 

me waiting patiently, with grace and poise.

But I’m a resilient woman who knows not to take these kinds of things personally, as unpleasant as them may be.  And, after a hot bath and a good Palo Santo smudging, I was over it…and yes, i do indeed remain hopeful.  

Because what can I say, to find the one(s), you gotta kiss a lot of frogs…and ignore the occasional grope. 

THE DAY I GOT MY GOOD JUDGMENT BACK – 062617

This blog entry leaves me feeling, well, just a little “less hopeful” about finding “the one,” or “ones” for me, because I had such a positive first impression of him.  To be fair, I even had a positive first date with him…except for the part where I paid for dinner.

And - when I had the opportunity to explain to a group of sister-friends how exactly, it came about that I ended up paying for dinner, it didn’t really hit me how ridiculous it sounded, until I heard myself telling the story out loud.  And even though these sister-friends were very careful to suspend their own judgements about my behavior (allowing me to have my own bad judgement all by myself), I couldn’t help but to hear what they were thinking:  WTF Maureen!  Red Flag Red Flag Red Flag, Sister!  Funny how a yellow flag becomes a red flag when you involve third parties in your personal fiascos, but what’re you gonna do…live in a bubble?

So I met Al (not his real name) on Tinder.  Tall, dark and handsome.  Seriously…and he seemed so…so…wholesome.  At least his photos did.  There was nothing written in his profile - which for me is a bit of a yellow flag, because what, you can’t take the time to tell me just a little bit about yourself?  Even on Tinder they give you 1000 characters.  Make an effort. 

But yeah, he looked so kind, so gentle, and soooooo super-easy on the eyes.  Which, by the way is requested in my profile; specifically, I request “....someone easy on the eyes, but not too much of a pain in my ass.”  Because who needs that, right?

And then there was the part where he was so eager to make plans, straight off the bat.  This is impressive, as most men seem to prefer the "extended texting relationship" over an "in-the-flesh-meet-and-greet."  And when I say extended, allow me to offer an example: 144 messages into one texting relationship I was having with a fellow, and he still had not solidified any plans to meet me!  And I tried, dear reader, boy did I try my dammdest to make plans.   But he always seemed to skate AROUND making plans.  Right up until the time I told him that, after 144 messages in and no plans made indicated to me that we weren’t a good match.  Of course, his next message to me, 30 seconds later was “Wait!  Not so fast! How about lunch?”  

Sorry darlin’…too little to late. 

So – Al and me made plans to meet for dinner.  I show up to the spot first, and I see him walking towards me.  B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L.  Even better than his photos, which is always a very nice surprise.  I remember one blind date where the guy who greeted me was a full 60 – 80 pounds HEAVIER than every single one of the “slim-me” photos he chose to display online.  #decepticon.  The online dating scene is FULL of them. 

He came walking towards me smiling, I was smiling, it was obvious that we both were enjoying first physical impressions.  Good start.  And then, he asked me: “Do you want to come to my brother’s house with me?”

What?  WTF?!?  What kind of question is that, do I want to take a ride in a stranger’s car to gawd knows where you really intend to take me to do gawd-knows-what? 

And that is basically what I said to him.  To which he replied: 

“Well I don’t have any money right now and I need to go pick some up from his house.” 

I was completely baffled.  How do you show up to a first date without any money?

“You have a credit card don’t you?” (I mean, who DOESN’T have a card?)

“They’re all maxed out.”

So what was I supposed to do at this point? We were already at the restaurant, he was an extremely tall drink of water, and I’ve been thirsty for damn near three years now. (walk away, mo!  you were supposed to walk away!!!)  So I went with it. #toothirsty

“OK look," I said,  "we’re here, let’s eat, I will pay and then you can pay me back.”  I was really FINE with this decision at the time…I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?  I have a nice dinner with a stranger and never see him again.  Those who have heard my stories before know i was stiffed for an $85 food/bar tab several years ago, so, meh. 

And we did have a nice dinner.  Good conversation, great “views” (lol) I left happy.  

And i was happy...until i told the story of my first date to my sister-friends.  And began to doubt my judgement. 

I heard from him a couple days later.  At 7:30 in the morning, he texts me.  

“Arrghhhh!”  I reply via text.  “Too early!”

I was out of town at the time, and let him know I would contact him when I returned.  Which I did.  On Friday, I send him a text, asking when he would be back in the bay area.  He lives in Sacramento, and is often in the bay for work. He responded that he would be in the bay for work the following week.  I give him the thumbs up, but no plans are made. 

And then, on Saturday, at 12:30 in the a.m. he sends me a text, which reads:

“Hi Maureen.  I know its late.  I’m in Oakland.”

Which, thankfully, did NOT wake me from my pleasant slumber (and I’m a notoriously light sleeper) – I saw the text early Sunday morning – and replied as follows:

ME: OK…but what exactly are we supposed to do with each other at 12:30a.m.?!?

(several hours later, like 3:30 in the afternoon, i receive this response):

HE: Hey.  Just woke up.  I was hanging with my brother.  It was a 50^th bday party. 

(now i'm even more confused and need further clarification):

ME:  Soooo….you drunk-dialed me then?

HE: No, I was not drunk at the time.  We were coming back from the city at that time.

(what?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!  “At that time?!?”  Who gives this kind of alibi to as an excuse for making a bad decision?)

ME: omg totally lame. 

HE: Lame? What exactly is lame?

So what is he asking here? Is he asking for clarification of the DEFINITION of the word lame?  I mean, I know it’s a fairly white thing to say, but here I am, I AM a Ritz Kracka, so obvs. I’m gonna 

say those kinds of things.   But really, who has never heard the word lame used in this context before?  No matter, I’m not going into the weeds with this one here and I have had enough.  I decide to address what about his behavior I find to be lame.  Perhaps I can save another poor soul from future nonsense.  Probably not though.   

ME: That apparently, you thought it was perfectly acceptable to call me in the middle of the night.  This, coupled with showing up to a first date with no money…I think I have to bow out at this point – we are not a good match.

He didn’t text back. 

Still - i remain hopeful.  

WHAT DOES ENTITLEMENT LOOK LIKE? - 060217

In this day and age of escalating racial tensions, the issue of ENTITLEMENT has become a hot-button topic in my social-circles: what it looks like 'in action' and how the effects of entitlement, if gone unacknowledged and unchecked can oppress others and their their right to exist and take up space...free and unfettered.

Well folks - i'm here to tell ya!  Entitlement looks like this: a “cuddle puddle” of 4, perhaps 5 people physically encroaching upon another human being’s personal space, with complete abandon and total disregard.

Tonight at Ecstatic Dance, I had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of this obnoxious display of entitlement.  What started out as one woman sitting cross-legged on the mat in front of me (there are several mats off to the side of the dance floor for people to hang out, do yoga, simply rest.  They are soft mats, approximately 3'x3' that jigsaw together, creating convenient boundary lines) ended up being two men and at least two, maybe three woman sprawled out on 3 or 4 of these mats, writhing and grinding their bodies into each other…with, as I mentioned before, total abandon and absolute disregard for the human being (me) occupying the space presently, and also prior to their arrival.  I guess in practice, possession isn’t really 9/10 of the law after all.  

And don’t get me wrong, I take no issue with their writhing and grinding, and overall freedom of sexual expression, I’m not a prude for heaven sakes, and this ain’t my first rodeo, you understand.  Hell, i really wouldn't mind finding myself in a cuddle puddle some day.  But, in addition to the perimeter between my physical body and their physical bodies getting smaller and smaller, I was kicked at least three or four good times.  Without as much as an acknowledgement, let alone an apology, that there had been unintended physical contact.  It actually "felt" like they were trying to kick me out of their way!  Perhaps they were.  

Because…well, because entitlement.   Which in practice means that the space is theirs to do with, play with, hoard in whatever fashion they see fit.  If you just happen to get in the way of all of their entitlement, well, move out of the way, FFS! 

You know, consent is a funny thing.  And it’s a big and consistent topic at Ecstatic Dance.  The conversations typically center around getting consent before engaging in dance with another person.  And most certainly before any kind of physical touch.  

But what about consent when it comes to sharing another’s personal space?  And sure, we all have different ideas about how wide of a space constitutes an appropriate amount of personal space (I have a friend who needs a great big bubble of space between his body and others) but we can all agree that there indeed exists this thing called personal space.  And if we can all agree that this exists, then we can also agree that this personal space can be violated.  

And its one thing to violate someone else's personal space by accident.  This type of situation happens often, with or without our knowing whether we have, but when we know that we have, as when we accidentally kick someone who is sitting in their personal space, this violation is easily remedied by an acknowledgement and an apology.   But what happened at Ecstatic Dance was a repeated and ongoing violation of my personal space - if not intentionally, at the very least, carelessly. 

The 4 or 5 folks who violated my personal space last night happened to be white (well, they didn’t just happen to be white, Ecstatic Dance Oakland is probably 85 – 90% white, so it’s more than likely that a majority of these violations are perpetrated by white people). 

Oh hell, who am I kidding, with my badly veiled attempt at “political correctness”:  These violations - and there have been several - have ALL been perpetrated by white people.  Never have I ever experienced an incident in my entire LIFETIME where a black person accidentally violated my personal space and didn’t acknowledge it.  Ok, maybe from the young ppl...but young ppl. are - in a word - obnoxious.  It's been MY experience that Black People don’t tolerate that type of b.s.  Stay in your lane, mkay?  STAY.IN.YOUR.LANE.  And – if you happen to veer out of your lane and into my lane, well - you better recognize.     

I would suspect that perhaps the history of ongoing violation – of all kinds, not just physical, experienced by black people in this country has trained/programmed our DNA (among other things, such as emotions) to be specifically sensitive and averse to breaches of personal space, even the most minor of experiences, such as being rendered invisible and then repeatedly kicked.

  

Which is why I am so keen on bringing movement medicine (specifically, free-form dance) to my black and brown communities here in Oakland.  And this idea both excites and terrifies me.  What if this idea is rejected? Or worse, what if I am rejected – for the umpteenth time in my life – by my brown and black communities?  I mean lets face facts, bi-racial folks often find themselves tip-towing between two very different worlds, feeling a part of neither.  At least, this has been my experience.  And yet, what if this idea is not rejected, what if it’s embraced - think of what kind of healing could take place in ALL of our extended communities!

To be honest, my idea is not really "my" idea: black and brown people have “always” embraced and practiced movement medicine – typically some form o dance – as an integral part of their culture…one of the important links to their ancestors that was stripped away from them with the forced deportation across the Atlantic ocean. 

“Sankofa” is a word from the Twi language of Ghana (there is a very good possibility that my birth-father’s roots are from Ghana) that means to “Go back and fetch it”, and this is the concept I am working with right now.  I also just learned (thanks Wikipedia!) this: “Sankofa is often associated with the proverb, ‘Se wo were fi na wosankofa a yenkyi’ which translates as: ‘It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.’”

SANKOFA

Reclaiming what is our birthright.  Reclaiming an integral part of our connection to ourselves, to this planet and to each other.  Reclaiming the JOY and absolute ecstasy that is possible when we are completely free and at ease in or bodies, expressing the music through our bodies. 

So - I know what you’re thinking: “Well? Did you say anything to these people?” No, I didn’t.  Indeed I thought about it, several times during that long 20 minute sit, but in addition to loud music potentially drowning me out, this cuddle puddle was so involved in its own physical experience, any noise from me would most certainly have gone unnoticed, or more likely, fallen on deaf ears.  Or even worse, I might have been *marked* as a deviant; an outsider, and “ostracized” by the group, because I just can’t get with their “sharing space” concept. and take up space.  Not to mention, i love confrontations as much as i love cleaning my bathtub. Or my toilet. Or getting my annual pap smear. 

Which I can, it’s just that, well, my definition of sharing space includes a very important clause for respecting personal space.  In fact, this is probably the MOST IMPORTANT clause in my definition of what it means to share space with others.  

And if i'm wrong in wanting to, in needing to protect the sacredness of my personal space, i don't wann be right.

SANKOFA