There is a certain relief to be had when things go up in smoke, and blow away on the breeze. On this Ash Wednesday, I feel a renewal, something cleared, something starting. 2008 year of big change, but meltdown is no bad thing. How else would rubies be made?
What to give up for Lent, and beyond?
A broken heart.
Or more correctly, a shattered dream?
Enough.
I’m not Catholic, but I do love a good ritual.
It focuses the mind.
The sun brinks a new cycle, solar winds on the rise, after 2007 doldrums. I feel it. Lucky me. Set your sail, plan your course, but know that it’s the wind who’ll decide where to take you. But you have to set your sail.
Or the wind just blows on by.
Adventure.
Life.
They have names, the winds. Zephyr, Tramontane, Levanter, Sirocco and sometimes, they call the wind Mariah. Men have named them, adventurous men listening to the romance in their souls. Nobody names anything anymore.
We’ve lost all romance.
We’ve lost men.
Last night I danced a new dance, Ceroc. Where men lead and women follow, except some of them can’t. The middle aged ones, limp and lost, unable to lead women anywhere, even on the dance floor. And a gentle lead is so what we long for. How can they not know this? I’ve had men say “You don’t need me for anything“, not knowing the essence of what men are is what we need most. We need you to be men. Just the way you are. To stop giving up.
Courage! Battle! Rouse Michael.
The Archangel.
He likes to help.
The Ceroc pensioner was sweetest for a beginner to partner, apart from the counting out loud and every so often wiping his bald spot with a towel. At least he took charge. Or the ones who were teddy boys in the 50’s, they may look like they’ve come to paint the kitchen, but man can they jive, and without moving their heads. They are smooth in that ‘guy who takes the money on the Waltzers’ way, only in that setting, all lit up and whirling. Smoothness released in the bright red yellow of flashing bulbs and spinning carts, cool for those fun fair moments, drab and uptight in the cold light of day.
Don’t make a false move.
Watch the hair.
The men from 30-40 seemed lost and soft, no muscles to spin or pull or push, even the ‘man spin‘ clumsy and doddering. What happened to that generation? Were we such dragons?
We’ve lost men.
But Ceroc is the thing to sort them out. There is a gentle but effective rule, if he doesn’t lead, don’t go anywhere. It works. I am hooked already. All the men I danced with said “You have such warm hands.” Then “5, 6, 7, 8 and…“
Compassion. It can strike at any time, in any mirror-ball hall. I saw they were afraid, and their longing not to be lost anymore, to lead and be loved for it, to share the dance. Yes!
That bravery of a sail set to the blue yonder,5, 6, 7, 8, deep in them somewhere, 5,6,7,8, the courage to show up, to dance. To lead women where it isn’t all or nothing. Where there's no loss of love to risk and nobody says 'no thank you'.
It’s just a dance.
5,6,7,8.
More power to their elbows, which “should be kept close to the body and at waist height when leading a spin as that’s the woman’s centre of gravity.”
Time to move.
Jingle jingle.
Comments
drew_gummerson | February 7, 2008 - 17:28
Like moves in a dance we follow each other from site to site.
Hello, purple one.
xx
purplehaze | February 8, 2008 - 17:31
Hello Drewster - ah but I am ever in your wordsmith shadow, dear only living novelist I know :-)
Congratulations on the Story of the week, I will read it in full when I'm not at work. Is of sackable length of internet time :-) And from what I've read so far, is no doubt worth every byte.
glad you're still abc-ing too.
xx
tcook | February 11, 2008 - 20:17
They do seem to be a lost decade of men, that lot. I'm the next bit up (and a bit more) and we were at the start of saying, 'this is wrong, women are our equals and deserve respect'. We were still men though and continue to be. Our generation fought with the women whilst, broadly, agreeing with them. The devil, as always, was and still is, in the detail. But that next lot just gave up and so many of them just do nothing. They appear to me as a lot of hedonistic, lazy, selfish good for nothings. But maybe that's just the ones I know!
Sooz006 | April 10, 2008 - 13:45
One boyfriend ago .. the one before the current, was slightly disabled. He'd been blown up in Kuwaite and his physical disabilities were nothing to the chip on his shoulder, that crippled him far more than a limp ... anyway, dancing with him was beyond good. He learned to balance on his good leg and use his bad one to aide movement. He was powerful and strong, dancing with him flled me with passion and turned me on.
By comparison my current, able bodied boyfriend is a 'pretty boy' his hands are soft, he is small and dainty. I tried to teach him salsa, but it felt like dancing with a shadow. I want to be gripped and held and swung and pulsed with the music.
It just shows that strength is a state of mind.
This one really made me think, thanks you, great read.