Unraveling

We Have Come to Be Danced

By Jewel Mathieson

We have come to be danced

Not the pretty dance
Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance

But the claw our way back into the belly

Of the sacred, sensual animal dance

The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance

The holding the precious moment in the palms

Of our hands and feet dance.

We have come to be danced

Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance

But the wring the sadness from our skin dance

The blow the chip off our shoulder dance.

The slap the apology from our posture dance.

We have come to be danced

Not the monkey see, monkey do dance

One two dance like you

One two three, dance like me dance

But the grave robber, tomb stalker

Tearing scabs and scars open dance

The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance.

We have come to be danced

Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle

But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama

Shaman shaking ancient bones dance

The strip us from our casings, return our wings

Sharpen our claws and tongues dance

The shed dead cells and slip into

The luminous skin of love dance.

We have come to be danced

Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance

But the meeting of the trinity: the body, breath and beat dance

The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance

The mother may I?

Yes you may take ten giant leaps dance

The olly olly oxen free free free dance

The everyone can come to our heaven dance.

We have come to be danced

Where the kingdoms collide In the cathedral of flesh

To burn back into the light To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray

To root in skin sanctuary

We have come to be danced! We have come.

I LOVE this poem. Love it with a passion, love it with the part of me that longs to be danced, the part of me that has known, in fleeting moments anyway, what it's like to be danced. Every word, every word of this poem hit me with pure resonance and knowing. Every word had me thirsting for the next, and the next, had me breathless in the way that we are breathless only when Sacred Truth punches us in the gut; had the heart pounding in anticipation and excitement, the feet practically tapping. This poem has me trembling, with longing, with desire; has me weeping with melancholy and missing; awakens some ancient I know it in my bones memory, of the deepest sorrow, the most radiant joy. This poem has me feeling more alive than I have felt in eons, maybe ever.

This poem is going up on my wall.

Today.

Today I start a new ecourse called Unraveling. I know... isn't it possible - likely even - that over the past couple of years I've unraveled enough??? But apparently not, because the minute this course was recommended to me, the minute I went on Susannah Conwway's website and read about her and her journey through grief and sorrow, read a little about the course, I couldn't wait for registration to open, couldn't wait to pay my 97 pounds, couldn't wait to get started. 

(And how cool is it that a poem with the word unravel arrives in my mailbox the day before I begin...?)

Today I get started. Today we get started, women from all corners of the globe, and those in between, in cyber community... together, with picture-taking and journal-writing we will unravel. I'm so excited. Though here's the one hiccup, for me anyway: we are asked not to share the course in our blogs. I completely understand the why and I will honor the request, but it will be different for me, to not share the journey here; where I pour my heart out, where I chronicle the ups and downs, the goods, the bads, the uglies, the progress, the stumbles, where I find balance, understanding, insight. I can post snippets here and there... and I probably will... I can talk about the impact the course is having on my life... and I probably will; I just won't be sharing all the particulars; and who knows, it might even be good for me... to practice a little self-containment...

How much unraveling is enough? Is there ever enough? Like fine silk thread from a large spool, one delicate strand and revolution at a time, the spool being this lifetime, the thread the journey, I hunger to unwind, to unravel until there's nothing left... nothing that stands in the way, past the pretty dance, beyond the self conscious shuffle, opened-hearted, unafraid, uninhibited, away from the shallow end of the dance floor into vast emptiness, into boundarie-less-ness; like a ragdoll, a marionette, a tree swaying in the wind, a wave churned by the ocean, a soul longing to move and be moved, I have come, I know I have, I feel it... haven't we all in fact come... to be danced.