The Egyptian pause
There is a enormous gulf between East and West I realised today in Aida Nour's workshop (a visiting master teacher from Cairo). The Egyptian style of dance is about feel and syncopation, slightly delaying the movement after the music. In our Western 5,6,7,8 dance tradition it is hard to switch from the habit of placing the accent exactly on the beat. They are listening to the Egyptian rhythm, e.g. maqsoum - doum tek tek doum tek, doum tek tek doum tekka tek tekka, and to the changes in the music, instrument and lyrical line, not to the straight count of 8. In some ways this style of dancing can look out of time and feel irregular and disjointed to us Westerners: 5 hip drops then 3 circles, 9 counts one time then 10 the next. Our well educated instinct is to get it right, but what is right?
I'm reminded of the Sufi, and Kabbalistic, tradition that G-d resides in the pause between the in and out breath. The moment of suspension between taking in and giving out. It is this pause that is missing from our Western system, with our drive to get it right we have driven it away. In the Egyptian form the dancer manipulates the rhythm, rather than tries to match it. She bends and shapes it - moulds it to her body and emotions. She drags behind it or moves towards it. A lot of the movements in belly dance seem to represent this push and pull. Arms open, then closed, walking towards and then away from. It has always seemed that this is a flirtation with the audience, and in some ways it is. But it is also a portrayal of the rhythm of life, and the representation of the hidden and visible worlds. My teacher says there are many veils between people and G-d, veils are not only a prop but a metaphor .
Often when I am dancing a slow taqsim (improvisation) I find myself locked into the movements, my muscles contracting spontaneously, I am the instrument; violin, flute, the undulating music saturating my body. It reminds me of how I first learnt to dance in New Mexico, with my eyes closed, waiting for the impulse to come, the music to move me, until it locked me in and whirled me about for hours, dancing my body hard, my arms floating effortlessly, my body possessed.
On my recent return from travelling it took me a few weepy days of resistance to get back into my life here. A friend told me that it could be because I go abroad to get lost. It is much easier to find adventure in a country you don't know; to meet friendly strangers, to stop and explore an interesting shop or to try something new. But at home you are much more in control, more at the mercy of habit - when in London would you leave the house without a reason or to go and visit somewhere beautiful and linger there. When I used to work in the City I would walk in my lunch hours, sometimes I would end up in the Tate Modern, always having to return reluctantly to the office at the same painting. Sometimes I would walk by the river and stop at the same ship and eat my sandwich, my imagination working against the roar of the traffic. These were precious moments of freedom of mind.
We want to control everything, and then wonder where the excitement went. At work I used to try to use a different shower stall in the gym each day to encourage my mind to be open to variation. Even this small task was a struggle, the mind loves habit, it lulls it into a false sense of knowing and security. The structure of the institution I worked as was such that it made life very comfortable for employees, providing a luxury gym, a starbucks, a frozen yoghurt machine, marble flooring. We were privilged and fell into the habit of accepting this environment as normality, never having to leave this prison/Eden. And yet there was nowhere to hide, to retreat, to sit and ponder. (Other than the sanctuary of the toilet cubicle or the steam room in off peak time).
And I think this is what belly dance is about. It is having the courage to lose your self and find the adventure, to follow its twists and turns, its joy and sorrow, disappointments and surprises. The courage to stand on stage and surrender, not know what might happen next. Not to do the same old thing but to see where the music may take you tonight. To step out into the darkness and trust, to keep walking away from your comfort zone. To retreat into yourself in the taqsim and to emerge again in the chorus. This is the real belly dance.
I'm reminded of the Sufi, and Kabbalistic, tradition that G-d resides in the pause between the in and out breath. The moment of suspension between taking in and giving out. It is this pause that is missing from our Western system, with our drive to get it right we have driven it away. In the Egyptian form the dancer manipulates the rhythm, rather than tries to match it. She bends and shapes it - moulds it to her body and emotions. She drags behind it or moves towards it. A lot of the movements in belly dance seem to represent this push and pull. Arms open, then closed, walking towards and then away from. It has always seemed that this is a flirtation with the audience, and in some ways it is. But it is also a portrayal of the rhythm of life, and the representation of the hidden and visible worlds. My teacher says there are many veils between people and G-d, veils are not only a prop but a metaphor .
Often when I am dancing a slow taqsim (improvisation) I find myself locked into the movements, my muscles contracting spontaneously, I am the instrument; violin, flute, the undulating music saturating my body. It reminds me of how I first learnt to dance in New Mexico, with my eyes closed, waiting for the impulse to come, the music to move me, until it locked me in and whirled me about for hours, dancing my body hard, my arms floating effortlessly, my body possessed.
On my recent return from travelling it took me a few weepy days of resistance to get back into my life here. A friend told me that it could be because I go abroad to get lost. It is much easier to find adventure in a country you don't know; to meet friendly strangers, to stop and explore an interesting shop or to try something new. But at home you are much more in control, more at the mercy of habit - when in London would you leave the house without a reason or to go and visit somewhere beautiful and linger there. When I used to work in the City I would walk in my lunch hours, sometimes I would end up in the Tate Modern, always having to return reluctantly to the office at the same painting. Sometimes I would walk by the river and stop at the same ship and eat my sandwich, my imagination working against the roar of the traffic. These were precious moments of freedom of mind.
We want to control everything, and then wonder where the excitement went. At work I used to try to use a different shower stall in the gym each day to encourage my mind to be open to variation. Even this small task was a struggle, the mind loves habit, it lulls it into a false sense of knowing and security. The structure of the institution I worked as was such that it made life very comfortable for employees, providing a luxury gym, a starbucks, a frozen yoghurt machine, marble flooring. We were privilged and fell into the habit of accepting this environment as normality, never having to leave this prison/Eden. And yet there was nowhere to hide, to retreat, to sit and ponder. (Other than the sanctuary of the toilet cubicle or the steam room in off peak time).
And I think this is what belly dance is about. It is having the courage to lose your self and find the adventure, to follow its twists and turns, its joy and sorrow, disappointments and surprises. The courage to stand on stage and surrender, not know what might happen next. Not to do the same old thing but to see where the music may take you tonight. To step out into the darkness and trust, to keep walking away from your comfort zone. To retreat into yourself in the taqsim and to emerge again in the chorus. This is the real belly dance.
posted by Accidental Belly Dancer at 9:23 pm
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