A psychiatric nurse shares his love of dance with NPR’s This I Believe and Scrubsmag.com
I believe in dance. Dance as magic, dance as cure and dance as a metaphor for life. All types of dances, all movement committed to an aesthetic of the body, of bone, flesh, blood moving in concert, infused with intuitive thought, positive vibes as Bob Marley dubbed it, thought buried in physical detail. Dancers, you magicians, Mr. Bojangles, Martha Graham, Barishnokov — I call on you; help me with my argument.
End the mind-body dichotomy. The body speaks to the mind. You scratch my back and I will tickle your mind. Let our heads move to the groove of our spinal columns.
I grew up in 60s Guyana and 70s London on a staple diet of dance. In Guyana I danced to calypso or kaiso, reggae and dub, lots of hips twisting opposite matching twisting hips and laughter and sweat. My youth in England, pulsed with that currency of the soul variously known as love vibes, passion fashion, boogie-woogie blues.
My body and mind unified behind a unique cocktail of socially aware lyrics and compelling rhythms. As I dipped and hopped and spun to songs that called for equality, food for all, world peace, planet love, singing as a moral project, a ministry through song to a dancing congregation.
Dance is magic — one time I threw a nightdress at my woman as we danced and all she had to do was hold up her arms for the silk dress to land a perfect fit on her perfect body, another time I danced opposite a woman and I knew from our movements of pure Euclidean geometry that she would be my wife, yet another time I landed in New Zealand and Maori warriors approached me like they would kill me where I stood, they foot-stomped, thrust spears and high-kicked, only to stop inches from me to rub noses with me.
Dance is a cure. When I worked as a psychiatric nurse in London, a sick woman, anxious and hair-pulling and thin with worry, danced her way from neurosis to happiness in three weeks of aerobic bliss. And nurses decompressed from the cares of the day by dancing the night away.
Dance is life — a moral project, if only nations gathered to dance, twist their territorial and trade disputes into the dust, dance and conjure peace. If only Coca-Coca taught the world to dance in perfect harmony. I see Neil Armstrong’s first step as the start of a moon-dance for mankind. Imagine the constitution, ‘we the dancers’ or ‘I dance therefore it is self-evident that all bodies are created equal.’ Like a lot of people I think-through difficult issues while dancing. ‘I dance therefore I am.’ Dance could be the method for understanding the most ornate concepts like Nano technology, quantum theory, or the poetry theory of Sprung Rhythm? This holiday season in Downtown Blacksburg, Virginia, I will dance for world peace and a winter of contentment. Dance good one and all.
Fred – Blacksburg, Virginia
I Believe in Dance,” Copyright © 2005 by Fred Daguiar. Part of the This I Believe Essay Collection found at www.thisibelieve.org, Copyright © 2005-2009, This I Believe, Inc. Reprinted with permission.
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