It’s mid-February. I’m attending a dance practice with Rosie Perks. The music she plays is soft and calming, but this time, I am feeling a vague discomfort that I cannot dispel.
Around 20 people are moving freely in the space, navigating a three-hour practice guided by Rosie’s words. It’s meditation in movement.
That evening, it took me a long time to find the energy to get up. But eventually, I saw what was bothering me inside. An old grief surfaced: the fear of being alone. It was a moment of realisation and an urge to stop fighting it.
I don’t need to push this pain or put it in a box so that I can dance. The opposite is true. I can only dance if I trust it and let that pain be my dance partner for one evening.
Strangely, that embrace lifted me from isolation, and I saw myself finally engaging with the group at ease.
I moved my sadness by making it my companion and letting her whisper her teachings.
There is another source of anxiety these days. A lot is going on, and the news overlaps and, at moments, overwhelms my capacity.
With so much going on in a dire direction, fear has a way of getting installed in my tissue.
I believe there is a responsibility to be aware of what is happening —Gaza, Ukraine, the last few weeks in American politics— without falling into a dumb consumption of news channels. It is difficult, however, to be well-informed without getting stuck in paralysis.
It can be too much when tension builds up, and deep personal sorrows are intermixed with uncertain horizons.
We need moments of solitude to learn to hold ourselves, crack open, and cry, just as we need to hold our radiance and embrace our communities.
A winter rose
Embodiment and movement are precious resources.
Shaking physically to release stored tension in our bodies is a great tool. Fifteen minutes of jumping, shaking, or going for a power walk can make a difference.
Dancing is medicine as much as it is a statement. Given the behemoth of lies and hypocrisy in public discourses, going and dancing with others can be a way for us to reaffirm our deep values and humanity.
In the face of collapse, dancing is essential to our response.
Dancing can make us whole and ready for what’s here and what’s next. It connects us with ourselves, our bodies, and to others.
A winter rose in my garden is blooming even after bitter dark days and recent storms. Although all her leaves are badly damaged, she’s upright, bringing her scent and beauty.
My winter rose
She shows me what it means to trust while keeping our faces turned “into the winds of sorrow” because, as Francis Weller puts it, that is the way to “keeping our hearts open to the immense beauty of this earth.”
That evening, the quality of my presence was transformed when I decided to dance with my sorrow and make it my dance partner. I was connecting. I was having fun, making art, and being of service.
We are not powerless in our vulnerability. By honouring our grief, we can create, show up and offer support to others. Moving our sorrow through dancing brings an energy that can help us to counteract decay and pursue a culture of care.
There are no small movements. These days, every conscious step on the dance floor matters.
Let’s double down. Together.
Stay attuned
Jesus Acosta
