honey. honey. moon. moon.

That honeymoon feeling can happen at the beginning sometimes, when people first come to class.

That newness, that awe, that what is this?


And almost always, there is a moment when that feeling changes. 


When it isn’t so new, or shiny, or fresh.

When it evens out and starts to become known, and you're not sure if you should stay, or go.

This moment -- this "after the honey moon is over" moment -- is exactly the moment to dig in, peel back the layers, and listen to the electricity coursing through your body.

This is the moment to underride the circuit system of expectation,
because in that underride, the body becomes endless:

Your spinning body, opening up and out, into stillness and into movement, as the wind pours in.

Like a long lasting love.

A few days ago, I got this email from Linda, one of the very first people who came to class 14 yeas ago.

We were meeting at The Shambhala Center on Walnut Street back then, where I taught dance for a few years, on the second floor. 

We eventually had to find another space to work because whenever we had class, the plaster would fall from the ceiling and land on the receptionist’s desk that was directly below the room in which we were dancing:

“...to reclaim our birthright of movement and expression through our precious bodies. alone and with each other. “ Linda Stonerock

Your dance mission is to begin that process of reclamation if you haven't yet.

And if you have, keep on claiming:

Face, up to the sky.
Back body, against the earth.
Wait and wait and wait.
Then go.