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You know that thing they say about love being like a butterfly that will unexpectedly land on your shoulder when you least expect it? That’s what happened to me one day in Buenos Aires while I was stomping the streets in my perennial search for books, cafés and cultura. I got zapped, not by the valentine version of love, but by Biodanza, the dance of life. And biodanza, which I stumbled upon in the back room of that women’s bookstore on Hipolito Yrigoyen, took me directly to universal love, freedom, and happiness. Yes, all that, one dance at a time.
BIODANZA—I’d seen the word plastered on posters for cultural happenings in Bogotá but I didn’t know what it was and I was too chicken to go and find out. I had reason to be scared. Because biodanza is not a set of choreographed dance moves—it’s a way to find yourself in your body in the presence of others, with music and with purpose. It’s like being intimate with your self in public. Yet it’s also fun, playful, and creative. Imagine being a five year-old spinning in a playground. Or strutting around at home, uninhibited, to a sensual salsa tune. But you’re not alone—you’re in a circle with strangers, dancing, at times holding hands, swaying hips, or looking into their eyes.
Rooted in anthropology, psychology, shamanism, biology and philosophy, biodanza originated in Chile in the 1960s as a result of Rolando Toro’s studies on the effect that dance and movement have on the human psyche. Toro found that the mixture of music, movement, and expressed emotions stirs the human potential and connects individuals to each other. The magic happens within classes called vivencias, on-the-spot life experiences orchestrated by biodanza instructors who come to class with a lesson plan and a CD of carefully selected music cued up.
It’s really hard to describe biodanza because you have to experience it to get it. I’ll try, nonetheless, but be forewarned. It’s like trying to tell someone what it feels like to peel a ripe mango and become briefly intoxicated with that scent.
Each vivencia has its own flavor. As a whole, the class may have a pre-selected theme, such as the yin-yang archetype, angels, totem animals, gods and goddesses, or one of the four elements. Each dance has a specific intention, such as connecting to mother earth, breathing in beauty, feeling the heart center, or flirting with desire. Biodanceros give in to the moment and to the rhythm at hand—samba, salsa, classical, rock, pop, flamenco. The music is critical and as a true melomaniac, I appreciate that the music is real and organic, as opposed to computerized techno types of tunes.
The biodanza instructor leads the way and demonstrates an interpretation of the dance at hand. She sets the tone, often with a poetic script: Dance your pleasure… Dance like now or never… Walk the walk of your life… Feel a oneness with all that is connected to the universe… Dive into the sea of humanity.
But the rest of us are without words. We dance in silence, listening inward. We do as we are told: Hold hands and dance in a circle to the rhythm of samba and greet each other with the eyes. Let go and walk tall, happy and proud to Queen’s “I Want to Break Free.” Breathe in universal love and float with the sounds of Enya. Reach into the root of the earth with the beat of African drums. Dance and touch each other with the fingertips. Caress the hair of the person in front of you.
We go inside, quiet down, even as Kitaro’s “Sundance” is pulsing inside our bodies. That is the beauty of biodanza.
I sought out biodanza in Los Angeles after that fated encounter in Buenos Aires and found Jaquelin Levin, who had just relocated here after being invited to teach a biodanza seminar at Esalen. A native of South Africa, Jaqueline trained with Carolina Churba in Johannesburg and later apprenticed with Patricia Martello in the United Kingdom. She recalls her first vivencia in Cape Town. “I was so disconnected from my body, I questioned being in that first class,” she said, adding that she masked her embarrassment with giggles. “But I went back the next week and something shifted in me psychologically and physically.” Soon after, she was hooked. “The woman [instructor] from Brasil demonstrated the dances and moved with such comfort and sensuality. I wanted to be like her.”
I do too. Not that I want to be exactly like anyone, but I want to be in my body in a happy, expressive and fluid sort of way. Like swimming, but on land.
Here in Los Angeles, Jaquelin offers a series of vivencias (weekly classes resume on September 24). She has an intensive workshop coming up at the Goddess Temple of Orange County (October 3), a workshop at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur (January 5-10, 2010) and a Caribbean cruise for International Women’s Week (February 28-March 10). Graduates from the San Francisco School of Biodanza may also offer vivencias in California. And if you google around, you can find biodanza in many cities in the U.S.
A few nights ago, I joined Jaqueline and her group of biodanceros on the beach for a vivencia beneath a full moon in Aquarius. I don’t know if it was the soft sand and ocean breeze or the intimacy with strangers mixed up with lunar magic, but something clicked all over again. I woke up, ever so briefly, in the pleasure of the moment. Even now, I close my eyes and sway in the circle of communion, arms wrapped around fellow biodanceros in our safe nest of humanity. I can still hear the chorus of Deva Premal’s “So Much Magnificence”: “There is so much magnificence near the ocean, waves are coming in, waves are coming in.”
And if you’re in Los Angeles, don’t miss your chance to experience the fabulous Totó la Momposina on Friday, August 14th in downtown at the California Plaza for Grand Performances.
The shows (at 12 PM and 8 PM) are free. Totó is a talented and dynamic traditional Afro-Colombian singer and she’ll be swinging it with some top-notch Colombian drummers.
3 Comments on Guest Columnist: tatiana de la tierra., last added: 8/12/2009
This week's poetry Friday lands on All Saint's Day, the day AFTER Dia de los Muertos. Two years ago I wrote a poem celebrating the birth of my grandson Aiden and honoring my grandfather - Salvador Medina Camarillo who passed away from complications of cancer in 1987. The poem is called Cien Años - 100 years because his favorite saying was that he was going to live 100 years. He didn't quite make it but he was the strongest man I've ever known and battled cancer from the 1960s till the day he died. The year my grandmother died in 1984 - he had 7 major surgeries in one month and a few months later was out breaking concrete with a sledge hammer. You'd think that with such vitality and strength he'd be rough and gruff - but no, he was the gentlest, kindest man I've ever met. He believed in paying it forward, doing good just for the sake of doing it. He did the right thing simply because it was the right thing and never had an agenda. He and my grandmother Maria Guadalupe Gonzales Camarillo or Dona Lupe as she was known, would be proud of what all these bloggers are doing for Robert's Snow and I honor their memory with each post for it.
My Poetry Friday post is a Day of the Dead altar of sorts. I hope you enjoy this little taste of my culture. I welcome you to leave a little candle of a comment on this altar for your loved ones who have passed.
I've attached my Papa Chava's (that's what we called him) picture along with pictures and video of the Day of the Dead ceremony last night in Lincoln Park. Please keep in mind I was dancing so the video isn't very good.
Cien Años
“Cien años” You would say In that Raspy, gruff Yet curiously gentle Voice “Voy a vivir cien años”
“Naci en el 1900” You’d tell me As together we sat In the patio filled with my Grandmother’s plants Playing Canicas, marbles that Lived in the bright Green MJB Coffee can
“Cien años” Square, determined jaw Resolute cara de nopal Face of un indo Beloved grandfather Affectionately called Papa
“Deje Mexico durante el revolucion” Sadness and shadows Flittering through your warm Brown eyes That must have seen So much Loss and pain Brave, brown man Strong and honest A working man
“Cien años” As we hoed the neat Rows of Corn, chiles, cilantro, tomate Bright red strawberries Freckled like me
“Conoci al Al Capone en Cheecago” Proud, smiling lightly As we picked the lemons, membrillo and laurel Destined for Grandma’s kitchen To become intoxicating smells Of a distant land. Later I learned of The stockyards, the stench Backbreaking work Racism and hatred He never once spoke of
“Cien años” Rolling massive flour tortillas In three quick thumps Of the Rolling pin Sas! Sas! Sas! And hands a perfectly round White moon To Grandma standing At the comal
“Somos Aztecas, indios” Crinkly eyes flashing Big dimple showing In your left cheek Same as mine Only deeper, much deeper The “X” marks the spot In a treasure map of a smile As we watch Los Voladores perform
“Cien años” As you sat at the table With the ever present Playing cards Shuffling with all the Finesse of a Vegas dealer And told me Of the first time you worked With your father At age 3 And earned Tres centavos One you bought an olla with Gave it and the remaining Centavos To your mother
“No cobramos por ayuda” Every time someone tried to pay For the sobadas Given By the healing hands Of a sobador, a huesero Those same hands That carved a cherry stone or a porous rock into the face of a monkey
“Cien años” Body racked with nausea Losing your thick black hair Fighting That asbestos-caused evil Cancer From working in that place That manufactured dishes Gave you a turkey a year, Franciscanware The apple pattern Desert Rose And the “Big C”
“Dios te lo pague, hija” Each time I did something For you Or my Grandma Out of love For no other reason But to lighten your load Do something for those That gave me so much
“Cien años” As you kissed the Forehead of your bride Still in love After decades of marriage Dancing with her To a bolero reminiscent of Times past
“Tengo que trabajar” After seven major surgeries The month after My grandmother’s death As we tried to get You to stop Working The hard muscle Of your indio labor Tucked under the wrinkled Mask of frailty
“Cien años” When the hospital Sent you home to die A thin man hiding his Pain Looking like A woodcut By Guadalupe Posada
“No tengo hambre” As I parade your favorite foods Chicharones en chile verde Frijoles del olla Burnt blackened tortillas I never understood Why you liked them that way Almost 86 On that April Fools Sunny day I called to see how you were And found you had gone To Mictlan "Fitting", I said As I held my children and cried Fitting for the practical joker You were
Today A great, great grandson Came backwards into this world Bearing your name – Salvador In the Aztec veintena of Tlaxochimaco The Offering of the Flowers
In his name Aidan Cesar Salvador Ehecatlpochtli I gift to you this Flower, this poem This bittersweet tear May you live on In our memories, our stories Our hearts and dreams Por much mas que “Cien años”
I began my Dia de los muertos early. I put in almost a full day of work at the office and then hopped a train to downtown L.A.'s Union Station. Once there, I walked through the train station at a fast clip carrying my bag of regalia. I crossed the street and walked through Placita Olvera - or Olvera Street. I took a few pictures of the altars there (more on that in another post). I ran across the street, swept through the inner plaza of La Placita - the oldest Catholic Church in Los Angeles, took pictures there and ran to catch a bus to Lincoln Park - Plaza de la Raza. I was lucky, the bus came within five minutes and I arrived at Parque de Mexico just in time to help set up the main altar.
This is some of the guys putting up a banner of Emiliano Zapata.
The main altar
The pungent smell of marigolds and copal perfumed the air as we worked together in harmony. I saw dear old friends, children who had played with my children now had children of their own. We worked hard and laughed a lot. We did the usual helping each other with headresses and regalia, admired each others handiwork and chatted away till the conch shells and drums called us to circle. Then we danced.
This is me in my regalia right before we entered the circle.
Dancing is praying for us. We dance in a circle. The main altar in the center belongs to our muertitos - that's where they dance. We danced for hours, well into the the night. Some of us took breaks but most did not. We danced in the four directions, giving honor to each. We prayed to Father Sky and bent down to Mother Earth. Rattles shook, drums were beating, flutes were playing, costumes and feathers were swirling. We honored our ancestors, we prayed on this sacred and holy night. We prayed. We honored. We kept our culture alive.
Some of the drummers.
The Virgen de Guadalupe is special to us.
We are the Mexica, we are Azteca, we are indigenous, indios, we are the sacred corn. We are devout people, devout to the religions of our choice, devout to our traditions, devout in our love of patria (country) and of our homeland. There is a prayer we say at the end of each ceremony that talks about how we are the sacred corn.
When I'm standing there exhausted after dancing for hours in prayer, when my senses are filled with copal smoke, drum beats and that otherworldy sense of sacred space, when I'm there with my face pointing to the sky, hands and arms raised to the heavens, when I'm saying this prayer aloud with 100 other dancers - then I know that we have something precious, a treasure in our culture and that it will live on forever so please don't ask me to assimilate and don't think I'm un-American because I love who I am. I stand on the strong roots of my past, I dance with my ancestors and I am so proud to be a Mexica woman.
Wow. Just... wow! How amazing to be part of something so primal and important and fun and beautiful at the same time.
Plus, the headdress... wow!
SamR said, on 11/2/2007 7:43:00 AM
That was great! Thank you so much for sharing that!
jama said, on 11/2/2007 8:18:00 AM
What a beautiful, touching poem. You wrote it with so much heart and love. Thanks for sharing part of your culture, too.
Kelly Fineman said, on 11/2/2007 8:53:00 AM
Lovely, Gina. Your poem to your grandfather was gorgeous. Did he really know Al Capone?
And your post about el Dìa de los Muertos was really excellent, too.
TadMack said, on 11/2/2007 10:30:00 AM
When we were at Mills, the school had an altar, and it was the most awesome thing -- it started small, and ended up this huge, complex mememto mori that was so touching. Thank you so much for sharing this, Gina. It's really beautiful as is the poem.
Se puede vivir cien años!
Gina MarySol Ruiz said, on 11/2/2007 11:51:00 AM
Thank you all. Kelly - I'm not sure he really knew him but my grandfather never lied. If he said he met him, then he met him. Whether or not he knew him well is a different story and one I doubt I will ever know.
Check out the rest of the day of the dead posts and photos - I put up two more posts loaded with images.
Sara said, on 11/2/2007 2:17:00 PM
I savored every line of your poem. It was heartfelt and dignified and funny and sad...everything your grandfather must have been. Thank you for letting me meet him.
And the rest of the post: I'll echo the wows. When you said, "dancing is our prayer," I thought: sign me up for that church.
Crispus Attucks said, on 11/2/2007 11:40:00 PM
Thank you, Gina. Everyone of your posts is an experience that I treasure.
Christy Adair is a freelance writer and cultural critic, contributing to such dance journals as Spare Rib and Everywoman. Women and Dance: sylphs and sirens (Macmillan, 1992), is a text used on dance and performance courses in Britain, America and Asia. Adair contributes reviews and articles to journals, magazines, radio and television both nationally and internationally. She also facilitates a range of performance and education events. Adair is a Reader in Dance Studies at York St John University and is committed to radical performance which communicates an exhilaration of moving and challenges social contexts. Christy has significant links with the dance performance industry both locally in the UK and internationally. Her current research interests focus on gender and ethnicity in relation to dance studies and performance. Her forthcoming book is entitled Dancing the Black Question: The Phoenix Dance Company Phenomenon.
In Women and Dance, Adair introduces the reader to an analysis of Western dance from the point of view of gender and post-feminist analysis. Despite the traditionally high profile of women as principal dancers, Adair asserts that modern Western dance is far from a woman-centered medium. Due to the lack of women choreographers and directors, the genre’s vision of women continues to be rooted in patriarchal notions of the female. It is a representation of the female body that is seriously limited, still unable to reflect the depth of women’s reality.
Adair sees the most synchronous images of women having their origins in dance/performance companies that evolved as in the period post 1970. According to Adair, these groups reflected the fluid, politically progressive images of women following the last wave of the feminist movement. Their major contribution was the development of a type of performance that pushed the boundaries of gender and sex-role expectations. In a piece entitled She Is Giving Birth to Herself, Adair describes how the group Bush Mama explores the primacy of woman relating to other women, not woman-as-male-love-object.
The most useful portion of the book was: “The subversives...women’s dance practices.” It underscores Adair's central tenet that images of women will only be expanded with women themselves taking control of developing, directing, and mounting their own work. This, according to Adair, must occur despite the social and economic barriers involved.
This is particularly potent for me as I try to work more on dance and spoken word pieces. I came to the same realization over the last ten years that I needed to do whatever was necessary to control my own work, how it was showcased, etc. It's also an opinion I've shared with other writer/performers, such as Tara Betts and SharmiliMajmudar, as well as initial discussions with dramaturg and performer CoyaPaz, founding member of Teatro Lunahere in Chicago.
My only two hesitations in recommending Women and Dance are these: it's an extremely dense read, which made for laborious, although worthwhile reading, and that the book is expensive and better gotten through library sources. But simply put, Women and Dance a vital sourcebook for women performers across the board.
ISBN-10: 0814706215
ISBN-13: 978-0814706213
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Speaking up about immigration ---
Sam Quinones's new book ANTONIO'S GUNAND DELFINO'S DREAM, a book of vignettes on immigration that has been lauded in the San Francisco Chronicle, Los Angeles Times, Publishers Weekly, and Library Journal, as well as having been featured by La Bloga's Daniel Olivas.
Quinones has spoken about immigration--indeed a hot topic again as Homeland Security begins cracking down on companies that hire "illegals"--on NewsHour, NPR, and CSPAN.
The newest feature of Sam's website, www.samquinones.com is a link where the public can tell their "True Tale," the name of which taken from Sam's first book, TRUE TALES FROM ANOTHER MEXICO. Here's the link, which has five or six stories from people on it. http://www.samquinones.com/other_stories.asp
Lisa Alvarado
0 Comments on Women and Dance: sylphs and sirens as of 8/23/2007 8:42:00 AM
I'm doing a lot of thinking this week as we get closer to the anniversary of the death of Cuauhtemoc. On Saturday, February 24th Danza Mexica Cuauhtemoc and other groups of danzantes around the world will honor our Gran Tata with cermonies of danza, musica, flores y prayers. My grandchildren and I will be dancing and bringing flowers to the altar. I always get reflective at this time of year. I think about what our people endured during the conquista, how we have survived genocide and walked through the fires of hate over 500 years. We've overcome so much and have so many hurdles yet to climb. We're a strong people, strong like the nopales that grow on the hillsides.
I started this blog two years ago in the spirit of Cuauhtemoc, to answer his call that we educate our children, that we teach and learn and grow. I don't have much to give, but I love books and literature and hope to share that, to inspire our people, all people to learn to love learning, to read, to search, to ask questions, to remember history, to educate and so much more. This blog is a labor of love for me and I'm grateful to do it. Like danza, where each danza is a prayer, an offering to God, our ancestors and our future, each post I add is a small prayer of hope for the future. Each post is an answer to Cuauhtemoc's call. I encourage those of you in the Los Angeles area to attend the Cuauhtemoc ceremony. You'll find the address and directions listed on the Baldwin Park circle's website. For those not in the L.A. area, we have danza circles in Arizona and Minnesota to name a couple. I'm sure you can find something in your area. It's a beautiful and moving ceremony that you will never forget. I leave you with some wise words from both Cuauhtemoc and my La Bloga compadre, Michael Sedano.
Mexica Tiahui,
Sol
From the FINAL DECLARATION OF CUAUHTEMOC Last TLATOANI of the MEXICA /AZTEC People AUGUST 13, 1521
" Our Sun has gone down Our Sun has been lost from view and has left us in complete darkness But we know it will return again that it will rise again to light us anew But while it is there in the Mansion of Silence Let's join together, let's embrace each other and in the very center of our being hide all that our hearts love and we know is the Great Treasure. Let us hide our Temples our schools, our sacred soccer game our youth centers our houses of flowery song so that only our streets remain. Our homes will enclose us until our New Sun rises. Most honorable fathers and most honorable mothers, may you never forget to guide your young ones teach your children, while you live how good it has been and will be. Until now our beloved Anahuac sheltered and protected our destinies that our ancestors and our parents enthusiastically received and seeded in our being. Now we will instruct our children how to be good. They will raise themselves up and gain strength and as goodness make real their great destiny in this, our beloved mother Anahuac."
To learn more about Danza Mexica Cuauhtemoc, please go to this link. There you will find lists of practices or ensaysos, articles about what we are about and photos of past ceremonies.
In the grand spirit of Cuauhtemoc, today on La Bloga, Michael Sedano has an amazingly powerful post entitled Because I do hope to turn Aged Eagles honor. It's an important piece of writing and one I hope will bring a slew of letters to PBS's door. Latinos have made so many unrecognized and unappreciated contributions to this country and it's past time that those contributions are recognized.
1 Comments on The Spirit of Cuauhtemoc, last added: 2/20/2007
Gracias Tatiana for showing us the biodanza to the moon and universal love. Let's dance biodanza at Toto La Momposina.
Biodanza sounds great.
Do they have a little kids version?
Thanks for the post,
RudyG
I never heard the butterfly reference, lovely...yes we can fall in love with dance. Nice blog Tatiana.