As many of you know, I have been clearing space, cleaning out, downsizing, in preparation of moving into our new home, a much smaller home, 800 sq. ft, not tiny, but smaller with little storage space. Wow… I am excited, thrilled, emotional, as we get closer to the day- 2 weeks- and am going to boxed, sorting, donating, selling, remembering…
Yes, the memories are constant now — high school photo albums, family stuff, grandma linens, artwork –mine and what I’ve collected, furniture and decor that I have loved, tons of PR stuff for my old bands and a zillion crates for Gypsy Caravan over the years. People I haven’t thought about in years, people that I remember constantly, events that were amazing, performances that were mind blowing, music made that made me dance even harder, students who have come and gone, and a few I still dance with today. Costumes totally downsized, and jewelry, oh my… videos, photographs, posters, set lists, tons of letters, review, magazine articles. I have actually hired an editor/archivist who is digitizing all the articles I’ve written, or been written about, covers of magazines, reviews. OMG, it has been a great long almost 30 years now. I have forgotten about many of these.
I am humbled by all the people who have come and gone, and helped in so many ways to carve out our Gypsy Caravan Tribal Bellydance® niche, style, format, career, studio. The dancers and teachers that continue to study with me to build their repertoire and style and business, my Master Teachers and Gypsy Caravan troupe mates who are passing on the love alongside me, the students who have loved this dance and blossomed in a million profound ways. I am eternally grateful for all whom I have met, touched, and who have touched and shared with me. Even the heartaches that go along with relationships. All part of living, of learning, of loving, and doing what I love to do. Dance, teach, coach, create, love.
Here is one snippet I found from a performance that Gypsy C did at Rose festival in 1996. A poem give to me after the show by a man I did not know…a wonderful and different take on our show.
Dear Gypsy Caravan,
I’m sold to you.
Thanks for showing yourselves at the Rose Festival. Even though you open my soul the the holy unity of the world I can’t resist anatomizing you.
I like your rhomboids.
I like your trapezii.
Your arms are snakes.
Your arms are trees.
Your arms dance and play music.
Between the suppleness of your arms
and the severity of your glance
By some miracle my hear endures.
Your deceptively serene smiles
belie he fearsome vitality of your womanly lunacy.
I like your head things
I like your hip things
I like your profiles and
your unsayably beautiful noses.
I am the neck and you are the shiny sword.
I’ve lost my heart to you.
You bring service into form by playing music for dancers.
You bring gratitude into from by bowing to musicians
(and even when they are arrogant, bouncing fools you still honor them)
I like your red-faced guy with the squeaky horn.
I like what you do to my breathing and how my heart pounds.
You annihilate myself.
What do I say to that but just wow?!
These little things have meant so much to me, these gifts, these pieces of someone’s heart, the words that are written- by the seers and the doers that blow my mind, that I/we/the dance/the music have touched them in some way. The reason I have continued on all these years, even with stops along the way to breathe and renew, and even with the desire to stop all together at times of burnout, with the the breakups and the deep connections, the global unity and family, the creations, the dances made, and the heart continues on with all the love I have. The hips keep swaying, the feet keep gliding and stomping, the arms are still snakes and trees, with the fearsome vitality of womanly lunacy.
with deepest gratitude, I thank you for all that you are and the way you are a part of this connection, in full frontal view, or quiet reverie in the back, you are here with me. I am so glad.
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