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A few years ago I stumbled upon this 2005 Israeli research study on the genetics of dancers.  I am working toward adding another component to my exercise right now because this isn’t the season (due to monsoon rains) that lets me go do my hard work building adobes outside.  I want to do more than my 45 minute job, so I have decided to start adding time at home dancing.

I remember when I was 18 and had just entered the big wide world having existed both my home of origin and the next step of boot camp.  When I landed at the Naval base in San Diego for my further training, I discovered the enlisted club there had a live band and a dance floor.  I don’t remember how many nights a week the band played.  But I do remember that when they did play, I was there from the first note they played to the last one.  I danced.  I loved it.  I never danced with anyone.  I didn’t even notice if anyone was there.  It must have been very few people because I basically had that dance floor to myself.

If I remember the Israeli dance research correctly, the defined a performing dancer as one who danced ten hours a week.  I want to see if I can work up to that.  I want to reawaken my dancing self.

I was thinking about this because I am alive.  My mother did not kill me.  She did not take my life, though there certainly times she would have it I hadn’t become so proficient and competent at receiving her beatings I could not avoid so as to protect my head, etc. to avoid being killed.  So, she did not take my body from me.

She took my hope, my trust, my safety, my security, my peace, my happiness, my curiosity, my ability to wonder or to fight back – etc.  But here I am with my body, and if my body actually belongs to a dancer, well, then……. I want to find out.

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