unVeiled

"For nearly two years, almost every Thursday morning, rain or shine, they came to my house and almost every time, I could not get over the shock of seeing them shed their mandatory veils and robes and burst into color. When my students came into that room, they took off more than their scarves and robes. Gradually, each one gained an outline and a shape, becoming her own inimitable self."

This passage is taken from "Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi and when I came across it, I had an aha moment. While the context is a group of modern women removing the robes and head scarves imposed on them by a fundamentalist Iranian government, the connection I felt was on a more personal, psychic and universal level. (And BTW: I don't in any way mean to diminish the importance of this action politically for women forced to comply to these rules by comparing it to a Western construct.) These words transported me to a place of recognition in that so many times over the past two+ years I've walked into a room on a weekly basis and shed my symbolic veil and robe and found myself and the women around me bursting into our true colors. (Re)Defining our outline and shape, each doing it in our own special way but wordlessly. Dropping what felt like the mandatory pretense that I feel we shroud ourself in during the rest our life.

Metaphorically, the shedding of clothes seems to strip away the layers of pretense. That's not to say that other defenses don't pop up in their place. (My hair, for instance, is a handy veil to shield me from anyone trying to read my expression as I dance. It can be used to distract with rock-chick head swings or cover my face completely, and it's also sometimes called into action to catch tears.) The less clothing, the more we lay ourselves out honestly at each other's feet. And interestingly, sometimes I notice that the same raw power and emotion we see, feel and hold for each other in the darkened studio, can get layered back on as the clothing is readjusted and class is over. Almost as if the moments that happen in the dim light of that room evaporate under the glare of everyday illumination.

Once I invited a friend to a class for her first time (she's since been tripping this light fantastic for almost a year now) and, after seeing how we all cheered each other on during our dances, she asked me if the women were always this supportive. It seemed almost incredible that this zone where every shape and size of woman was on full display and where most of these women were strangers to each other, that there was no outward sense of judgement or snarkiness. And I can't altogether explain why, but for the most part, there is an absence of malice where so often the traces of insecurity among women trail around like bad vapors. It's as if with the stripping out of layers of clothing, everyone is equal. Exposed, yet happily so. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a bunch of skipping, giggling girls high on happy-endorphins each and every minute of class. Far from it. What I find is plenty of honest pain, joy, fear and celebration. All of which makes us, no matter what we do or where we come from, brave travelmates into the land of ourself.

I'm also constantly humbled to realize that these are women I probably wouldn't know if it weren't for us all landing together for two hours a week. While outside these walls, each and every one of us wields different powers, bank accounts, family ties, languages, humor and geography, none of that comes into play here. In fact there's no time for those conversations to even come up between us. I probably learned much more about these luscious ladies (and them about me) quicker through our movement than I'd come to find out after hours of conversation. And over time there's almost no need for discussion: I know that L, who has so regularly danced in the shadows, is coming closer to the light...literally, which is an illumination on many levels. That K, whose movements have so closely mirrored my own in manic, hard-edged fire driven by our music choices, is slowing down, softening to the possibilities of going deeper. B, riding a wave that has been sparking an inner fear of exposure during her dance, now seems to be body-surfing the moment rather than fighting it. KS shows a sensuality now that flows from a deep spring of confidence that has been tapped powerfully of late. A's soaring moves reflect the lightning of her life outside the studio, while O's release from the pole mirrors her willingness to land on her own. LA taking fearlessly from the floor around her and LL practically purring as she embodies her own desires to give and to take as she deserves. (Even IB, who isn't in class anymore, is channeled for me everytime I see an amazing standing hip circle in action and am reminded of those times I'd watch her moving and think she could heal the world with this beautiful move; whie T appears whenever a leg wraps sensually around the pole and pulls it close, a woman in control as she is...even if she doesn't always believe it of herself.) And I could go on and on and on (and often do) to describe the wordless magic that each of us unfurls every week as we let the layers of clothing and pretense go. None of this growth has been told in words, all of it in the unveiling of movement.

And now, in a different class with new wordless conversations weaving in and out, I reveal myself. At first I've been tentative, this new language hasn't yet freed my movement's tongue altogether, but I write this post in honor of the women with whose unveiling I started this journey and with whom I'll always travel in my heart&soul. And to the women whom I burst into more color with as I shed further veils.