Sex & Eros › Ritual Dance

Ritual
dance

Before there were temples, there was a fire, a drum, and bodies moving in the dark.

The floor is where the body stops performing.

Most of us spend years managing the body, performing it, keeping it in line, until we have half forgotten it is even there. Past the point where you are still watching yourself, it stops performing and starts saying what it has been holding. This is the oldest way human beings ever crossed a threshold, and the Bwiti still dance the whole night through to do it. We treat the floor as what it is, a ritual instrument, and we hold it tightly enough that whatever wants to move in you finally can.

What the mind refusedThe body speaksThe body has been holding what the mind would not, the desire, the grief, the rage, the tenderness. Give it a drum and no instructions and it starts, at last, to say it. This is ecstatic dance, sweat past the choreographed self until what you carried moves on its own.
Past where you are watchingThe self steps asideFar enough in, the one performing gets tired and drops away, and something moves you that you did not plan. Past a threshold of repetition the dancer stops and the dance keeps going. People have called that crossing over for as long as there have been people. We open the door with structure, and we stay until everyone is back.
When another comes closeThe charge between twoTwo bodies on a floor wake everything, the old reaching, the fear of the pull, the erotic current most people only allow in private. Here it moves in the open, with consent as the floor, approach and retreat, rupture and repair, a boundary spoken with the whole body.
Why it belongs hereHeld like a riteOlder and stranger than a warm-up or a workout, one of the oldest initiations there is, and we hold it that way. The floor kept tight enough that you can come undone and still be brought home.

For a lot of people the floor is where the first real threshold gets crossed, usually without a name for what just happened. It can be frightening to walk in, a room of strangers and an invitation to drop the mask. We hold it tightly, so the fear has somewhere safe to move, and we tell you what you just walked through.