I suppose we must grieve a little. Not only for the collective disaster that is happening globally, or the ugliness of humanity, or the looming unsustainability of climate change, or the destruction of equilibrium on this planet. Some more direct sadness in the deaths of 2nd degree connections, the stories of business destroyed, livelihood impaired. The direct and indirect way that everything in this planet is interconnected, in such intimate and profound ways beyond our understanding.
I have not let myself feel the loss of Tango as deeply to process it. But herein lies the pain of losing an outlet that meant so much to me, that continues to hold sway over my imagination, that continues again and again to be my kryptonite.
15 months since my last milonga. 15 months since the last embraces of friends, partners, buddies. In a way, it captures exactly the pain of the world, of lost connections and the ability to be in each others presence without the looming fear of worry and the potential of a lightning strike.
I had a chat with a close tango friend of mine recently about what she felt about the dance now, she made the observation that Tango without the ability to truly let go, to be transported to another time, space and memory, was not a Tango that she believed she would enjoy. I daresay I do agree.
There is going to be some collective trauma that needs to be overcome, not only in the personal judgement of the safety of the dance, but also in what it means to each of us personally moving forward. Shall we lapse back into the judgemental, divisive nature and negativity that Tango can sometimes reach? Or will we truly heal and improve ourselves in the ways that make us remember over and over again how this dance asks from us to be the best version of ourselves possible on the floor.
Will I be changed when I step back on the dance floor again?
Will I rediscover the beauty of being a novice?
Will I reset my patterns and old habits?
All I can wish for, is to be honest. To remember this time as it is, encapsulated. To hope that this is the last stretch of the race back to humanity.
I miss you my old friend. My lover. My torment. My passion. My sanity.
I have not let myself feel the loss of Tango as deeply to process it. But herein lies the pain of losing an outlet that meant so much to me, that continues to hold sway over my imagination, that continues again and again to be my kryptonite.
15 months since my last milonga. 15 months since the last embraces of friends, partners, buddies. In a way, it captures exactly the pain of the world, of lost connections and the ability to be in each others presence without the looming fear of worry and the potential of a lightning strike.
I had a chat with a close tango friend of mine recently about what she felt about the dance now, she made the observation that Tango without the ability to truly let go, to be transported to another time, space and memory, was not a Tango that she believed she would enjoy. I daresay I do agree.
There is going to be some collective trauma that needs to be overcome, not only in the personal judgement of the safety of the dance, but also in what it means to each of us personally moving forward. Shall we lapse back into the judgemental, divisive nature and negativity that Tango can sometimes reach? Or will we truly heal and improve ourselves in the ways that make us remember over and over again how this dance asks from us to be the best version of ourselves possible on the floor.
Will I be changed when I step back on the dance floor again?
Will I rediscover the beauty of being a novice?
Will I reset my patterns and old habits?
All I can wish for, is to be honest. To remember this time as it is, encapsulated. To hope that this is the last stretch of the race back to humanity.
I miss you my old friend. My lover. My torment. My passion. My sanity.
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