I recently went to the local Farmer’s Market to enjoy a morning out with family and friends. We were hoping for an enjoyable, family friendly time within our community. We did have a good time, but there was one event that was . . . life changing.
I don’t want to oversell this, but I now think differently about humanity than I did before Saturday morning. Questions of the Universe have now been answered. Colors now seem more vibrant. Oxygen tastes sweeter. The Jackal does indeed dance with the Tortoise as the moon gazes from his perch.
There we were walking through vendors and surrounded by fresh fruit, flowers and vegetables when we encountered . . . them.
I don’t know that I have ever envisioned what a belly dancing troupe would look like, but if I had . . . I would have been wrong. Very very wrong.
First of all, the 9 or 10 dancers that were performing for us were . . . how should I say this? They were not the youngest people in the crowd. Nor were they leanest performers that I’d ever encountered. I’d have to estimate that these ladies were all between the ages of 50-70. Hey, I’m all in favor of seniors getting out in the community and getting their exercise on, but this format seemed a bit unusual and quite simply . . . a little too revealing. Did they have the right to display their midsections under mesh netting? Yes they did, but why would they have chosen to? This could best be described as an “Infertility Dance.”
Trauma. Undulations. Fear. Movement. Danger. Did I mention fear?
“What were they wearing”, you may ask? I’m not even sure where one would purchase these types of outfits - they were definitely unique. What my family and I witnessed was a symphony of sequins, mesh netting, flowing black material, bells and live snakes. The snakes were, I’m sure, an effort to draw us into the danger and slithering nature of the senior belly dancing scene in Des Moines. (I didn’t even know we had such a scene!) I must admit that while we weren’t fully drawn into this scene, we were quite transfixed upon the “lead dancer” and her ability to bring us to edge of ourselves . . . and then invite us to take a leap.
The Mariah Carey soundtrack was blasting in the background. I distinctly remember hearing bongo drums from somewhere deep within the crowd. The smell of goat cheese was suffocating. Children were bustling about while their parents stood in horror. Cameras were clicking and people were gasping. In a series of confusing internal moments - we moved seamlessly from mockery to admiration and then to intrigue.
“Now would be the perfect time to leave”, we reasoned. Yet, we stood in silence . . . at the edge of nirvana . . . held powerless by her hypnotizing gaze. She was, “The green Mamba.”
Questions scaled our walls and invaded our minds. “Will the mesh netting hold?” “Where were her teeth?” “What’s up with the goat cheese?” And perhaps most importantly was, “Is this the beginning of the end as the Mayans have foretold?”
After several solitary moments alone in the crowd, my friend from out of state looked to me. His eyes, frozen in the moment, told a story of hope and yet were wrought with fear. He was obviously deeply affected by the rhythm and reality that was displayed before us. With caution in his voice, he asked, “Is this heaven?”
“No, this is Iowa.”
JJ - with the vital input and the recent life changing experiences of my friend...Chad Sams
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