THE INVISIBLE DANCE (has no shadows a characteristic of vampires)
I was grasped by the inadequacy of my own judgement.
Something was happening to me, that was in such contrast to everything that I had learned my own feelings were about. I saw my own shadow changing its shape into weird contortions where I had always thought it to follow my smooth outlines. In other places new shadows appeared that had not been there before, killing the vampires in me.
She was young, adorable and could shape any move to perfection. I was in heavens every time she agreed on a dance. Me being old and grumpy looking for girls like her who could give me new life.
Where we always went LEFT, today we take a right turn. Corpus Collosum wise I mean, the brain sides. I am a left brainer an analytical mind and here I got drawn into my right and associative side.
She lost her age, in that instant and could be anywhere between minus 200 to plus 80. I see a wisdom in her and a little cross hanging around her neck.
My lungs have a hard time expanding my chest but I notice my flesh subtly pressing into her breasts and midriff. What is more unsettling I even feel her soft stomach. Trying to concentrate, is impossible. The control is gone and I feel very uncomfortable.
Literally I see my shadow turning into that contortioned shape of a fatalistic middle aged man.
I’m inside her sinking through a bottom. My body starts to tremble, I want to cry. I know we are standing still because I can’t move. She hasn’t stopped embracing nor has she taken her eyes of me. They are closed but x-ray me.
Whenever people talked about, ’seeking the truth’, I got suspicious.
Why seek the truth where falsifications can make life so much easier, more comfortable, give less hassle, and are financially more attractive.
Some people go as far as saying that a search for the truth is innate in us. Like something coded into our genes. No need there for a church.
I was born to be honest. At least that is what my mother always told me and to all of my family. She said, you are not able to lie, the truth just plops out of you.
I don’t know if it was her wish. I at the same time believed in it with all of my heart. Like she did, I thought it to be my biggest feature.
At the same time I was stealing daily, something that went on for almost 20 years. First from her wallet, than shops, restaurants, gardens, hotels. It was an addiction and I could not go a day without.
Whenever I got caught I faced them with my ’genetically honest’ me. It was so convincing that they always let me go. All I needed to do I realised was to believe in it myself. So I did and the two were never in contradiction. I sold my thieving and lying to my friends as proud trophies and artifacts, an art and a way of living.
My knees are smashed to smithereens.
I carry myself, but the building I live in is about to collapse.
I fagged it out, provoked and commanded it, had it exploited.
Storms it endured. It sailed the rough seas and visited exotic far away places where diseases ate its insides away.
Like after many long nights of dancing, where pleasure and states of high aroussal, the exctacy of hormones and adrenaline, leave a broken body behind, that in the early hours begs us to be carried home.
Living in the moment, made me exceed my physical borders.....am I a happy man?!
What else is a body than a shell?!
My body has contributed itself to a higher cause.
It didn’t cry out when I needed it to reach the highest, to make me fly. It allowed me to feel God. Epo, blood-transfusions, growth hormones, I shied away from nothing, used them all.
Paranoia got the better of me. What started of as my own elite army training in shaking of police or security, misleading them with false identity papers or being upfront obnoxious, became a neurotic aberration. I was always on my guard even if I didn’t have to, and every new place I checked out the minute I arrived. Always anticipating my escape. The years though gave me the feeling that something was so not right.
It took a psychologist to tell me upfront that I was a lair and a thief.
His remark first chocked and than enraged me. I was the most honest man in the world willing to fight and even die for the truth. (And nothing but the truth so help me God).
God is great and always watching. I even thought I had convinced him.
Once again I am seduced to a dance I wasn’t looking for. A lady invites me on the floor. I have flown too high to answer down here and my body is already on its way. Vaguely I recognise her, I take steps that feel like sickly, big blown up cheeses in my mouth.
I disappear in formlessness and barely know what I am doing. Each moment I feel more nauseated as if I have to eat myself through these yellow heaps of fat.
After an endless three numbers I think I heard the bell to leave the ring, but to my horror a fourth one starts, even a favourite of mine. I tap into old knowledge and reserves, go for the figures and try imagining wonderful dances. Everything, it doesn’t matter what, as long as it keeps me on my feet.
But nothing works, its like opening gone off milk cans, sour and far over date. They explode the moment I touch them and their rotten smell contaminates air.
When the last notes die away and my false smile tries to compensate for the words I don’t have. I stumble on my numb dead legs.
The interval music, called Cortina here, is playing. We are the only ones left, nailed to the floor, locked in the notion that every movement can bring the sour of our stomachs up and out. Or is it our desperate hope of still being able to safe something of this moment.
A new melody introduces itself, with that beautiful and breathing bag, the bandoneon. A magic number. I collect my last bit of willpower and turn around, leaving her behind in disbelief.
The moving circle of dancers keep her imprisoned on the floor.
A status quo accentuated by the crowds eyes, needles that perforate.
This shame will follow me for years every time I meet her in one of the milonga’s.
In tennis, one point can turn a practically won match into defeat, make a tournament succeed or fail.
Here it is one dance and some never come back.
Does my own history and behaviour confirm what they told me. Searching for the truth is innate, an evolutionary trade.
On Michael Lavocah’s blog, a teacher I know visiting Buenos Aires, I read, “the couple transmitted genuine emotion”.
We all recognise these quote’s about the people we see dancing.
Next to genuine there is ’simple, honest, musical, from the heart’.
On the other side our judgement is ’kitsch, all spectaculo, big ego, false, cold, technical, fake’.
All these connotations have a reference to our longing for the truth.
“Genuine emotion”, sounds almost magical. To have genuine emotion is not an everyday trade it seems.
No matter fabulous technique, complex figures, wonderful costumes or being young and beautiful; There was “genuine emotion”!
Realness, honesty, being who you are and acknowledging your own situation; meaning being connected to your very inner self, prevails.
Truth celebrates victory over all the categories mentioned above.
But I could mask my stealing and lying so well that cheating became the new honesty. My trophies had emotion and genuine skill.
When we wanna catch the light
And our true nature,
We forget that God created the light out of darkness.
When we live in the illusion that the day illuminates
All that we need to see
And conscious is our only waking state,
We get lost. (And blinded)
When we believe that darkness is the devil
The hiding place for ghosts, monsters and murderers,
We forget that it is the blind who learn to see.
When we believe that death is the final, the end
Where only worms await us,
And the final judgement reads ’life has no meaning’
We forget that matter and rock created and turned into life.
In the darkness we live our true self
Where ugliness disease and poverty flourish
The darkness of the Middle Ages
Were the home lands of the Renaissance.
Where the circle of endlessness meets an interruption
Men is born.
We exist in the imperfection,
To strive for a perfect world would mean to distinct ourselves.
I see the embrace of two people as the catching of a negative space. Closing it from the light.
The embrace creates a dark space, a vacuum where all the shadowless vampires can live and be acted out. Here the dark forces of the invisible dance rumble and intimacy makes the humidity rise.
It is in this embrace that I can feel held and pushed away at the same time. Where I sense that certain proposals are not allowed, get stuck in various body-parts on their way down to the floor. It is here where I feel someone can only receive and not give or the other way around. Where a person reduces themselves to a machine or follow the laws of the army where “befehl ist befehl”. I meet murderers and sadists, withdrawn little girls and boys, and empty bodies.
It is here where we either suppress the subconscious or learn to know about its mysteries.
A beautiful and mesmerising place. If one manages to keep the light out. It is like the numerous layers that Shakespeare hit in his plays, the dark forces he captured keep us fascinated till this day.
Yesterday I saw the film “A serious man”, from the Coen brothers. A weird film (as expected from them) that left you at the end as much in a suspense as the main character.
All ’the serious man’ wanted and thought he did, was living a truthful and honest life. But in every next scene, most of them ordinary and daily events of work and family life, his built imperium of truth and honesty lost cohesion and parts of their fundament. In the end all he could utter was, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Rabbis, psychologists, family even God could not help him understand.
All he wished and tried was to be a “serious man”.
All we wish or try is to be serious dancers. We learn our steps, follow the instructions of our teachers, (discover the metaphors), work hard, do our best and are charming, build up a repertoire and identity and feel happy and passionate about it.
But in the end the tango is deceiving us. We don’t know anymore what we really want from it, what is wrong or right. We have miserable nights of rejection, being too old, too ugly, not good enough or not fitting the fashion. We loose balance, feel inadequate and are not sexy at all.
Where we looked for being held, accepted, arms wrapped around us in intimate pace, we feel lonely and lost. Where did we go wrong?!
We see others that are fake, pretentious, holding up appearances and try to avoid their eyes.
Are we like them?!
We believe in our own honesty. The point is, we are honest. As my mother told me already when I was a kid, we cannot hide the truth.
As always, she was so right.
Isn’t it wonderful that our bodies never stop telling us who, where and what we are. They make us feel, notice, sense.
Feelings are annoying things I can tell you from my own experience. It is a wife that never shuts up even if you hit her or exchange her for another. Pain is such a thing, a feeling you rather not have. But in the end really, it is just a loving kindness. Like your wife who just wants to remind you to not ruin yourself, that sometimes you need to listen, to stand still and pay attention.
Me and my girlfriend are maniacs in our search for the truth.
The discomfort we create can be enormous. My mother keeps telling me, “why you have to go so deep; accept what is”.
We don’t, we dig, we get uncomfortable and confused, and than find a truth. Every time we are surprised there is another one underneath.
How many mirrors did we put up, how many masks can you wear.
What is the reason for all this? We don’t wanna be ’serious’ people no more. But how comfortable it would be to sit back and relax. Fucking genetic evolutionary circus!
Stealing was my comfort zone. It was easier to do than not to do.
Not to steal anymore caused me a lot of shit and detoxing.
Stealing was my true nature. A child’s reaction against the world.
My honest survival that asked for an action, a reaction.
I grew up late in life, it was there that my behaviour became toxic.
Nothing is true forever.
The Tango started in dark places. The Spanish Argentina carried a lot of violence within its culture. Degrading poverty, smashed up dreams, humiliation, dead end streets, murder and prostitution.
This darkness was Tango’s birth-ground, home land. Out of that darkness God created light and he called the light tango.
It is the reason why the tango is still preferably danced after midnight. Where we can shed off our vampires and find our shadows back.
It is pure Alchemy.
To create the tango we literally need to embrace the darkness, tightly, close, heart to heart.
To carry and live our darkened soul. To learn the art of the Argentine tango is to learn the art of Alchemy where dark energies turn into gold and pure beauty......with genuine soul and emotion.
We saw how the English tried to take the darkness away, afraid as they were of their own soul.
They created the ball-room tango.
The darkened sides we so much like to deny is where our biggest potential is stored.
It hides what once were our survival skills, honest truthful and genuine reactions to the dangers installed on us. As children the only choice lies in denying the self in order to keep their life, dependent as they are for survival on their care takers.
Survival skills become toxic after some time as they are meant for survival and not for living.
When we want to live, to really live, it is not enough to put them away in the cellars if our souls. We need to capture our honest evils that became our shadowless vampires, embrace and disarm them. We need to look them in the eye and realise they are harmless and not bad, and that we can turn there soul into gold.