Happy Hanukkah, Christmas, Yule, Kwanzaa, Eid, Solstice, and more!
Whatever you celebrate, even if it is a can of soup, I send you all my love and kisses.
And of course, we have a present, too!
This year’s present will keep giving all year…
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Hugs and kisses,
Alia
In the USA, we have this powerful myth of the first Thanksgiving. The first pilgrims came to the shores of this country, escaping religious differences in England. The indigenous peoples kindly took pity on them and invited them to a feast. The pilgrims were so grateful for this kindness that they commemorated the feast as a national holiday.
Today, laden tables will be set in every home that can afford it (even the virtual genocide of native folk hasn’t dimmed the glory of Thanksgiving). Each person at the table may even be pushed to to name something for which they are thankful. Which they will do, however sulkily. On other days, though, most folks focus on what’s wrong (of which there is always plenty).
What if we highlight what’s right? There has recently been a lot of research that highlights the power of good–of thankfulness and gratitude in daily life. Folks who prioritize the positive feel happier and more at peace with their world. The impact of terrible events recedes, and love finds a foothold in their hearts.
We can bring this practice into our dance with marvelous effect. Kenny Werner, the author of Effortless Mastery, said, you can be the most miraculous player in the universe, never hit a wrong note–but still not be free. He said, the only way you can be free is to love your playing *even when you play badly.* When you hit wrong notes, make mistakes, and generally suck.
Freedom means loving yourself–and your art–no matter what. How radical is that? We are so conditioned to punish ourselves, dismiss compliments, and obsess over our flaws. Where is our thanksgiving?Where is our gratitude for the joy of creating art with movement, this marvelous dance that offers us joy, solace, and a pleasurable, self-loving relationship with our bodies?
What if we let this year be different? What if we choose to reflect upon ourselves with kindness and love? Our dance will not suffer. It will not grow less. It will grow more, as our dance, too, becomes more loving and filled with joy. As we fill ourselves, we fill those around us. The whole world wins.
What if you write a love letter to the dance? To your teachers. And to yourself, as a dancer. Tell yourself all you have accomplished, how beautiful you are, and how much joy you have brought into the world through dance. Write one today–and every week for a month. No negatives–just the good. Replace negative thoughts with love and affirmative warmth.
Next time you dance, what if you just enjoy yourself? Enjoy the pleasure of your moving body. Only do what feels good, what feels easy, what your beautiful body enjoys. Allow yourself this pleasure, this happiness.
It’s a dance of joy.
Let’s enjoy it.
Love,
Alia
In this series, we look at how dance has turned from a pleasurable fun activity to one of perfectionism and hard work. The series began with the observations of a dance friend, Sarah, who noticed that practicing improvisation was seen as less valuable than drilling or fitting combos into other songs.
Our first strategy was making time for creative work. Read Part I here.
Our second strategy was Opting for the Most Pleasurable. Read Part II here.
Our third strategy was Share Your Joy. Read Part III here.
So we’ve looked at a lot of strategies.
Now let’s look at some caveats–things to watch out for. Sarah mentioned that she and her dance friends tended to dismiss “just improv” as not a quality practice session.
We must consider what a person means by “just improv.” If they mean put on music and hop around on autopilot, no, that is not going to make them a better dancer. It will maybe up their stamina, but otherwise it is just going to reinforce hopping around on autopilot.
When a person really dances, they become more skilled at really dancing. The interoceptive (Sufi, Dancemeditation™) model puts us in questing, curious relationship with our body, the music, and the Divine. That is entirely different from hopping around.
Sarah said,
I’ve had days where I’ve danced for 30-40 minutes; playing around with the music and what feels good … Then I beat myself up for not having “really” practiced.
Part of the shift is letting go of beating ourselves up. For anything. This is a destructive behavior. It is a symptom of old shame and trauma. When we feel it happening, we can take long exhales and let the impulse wash out of the body. Practicing self-love and acceptance is far more valuable–and genuinely subversive ; ).
To dance well, we need confidence. Drilling and technique practice encourages us to look at ourselves with narrow, critical eyes. Really dancing, using our time to enjoy and connect to the music, the guests, our bodies, and our joy–this develops our confidence. The affirmation in the picture, “I am a Master. I am great!” is worth a lot of repetition.
There’s a difference between drilling and improv. Drilling practice makes us more precise and stylized. Quality improv practice develops musicality and intuitive response.
A classical musician trains through technique, plays scales. A folk musician plays music. That is his practice. The folk musician may be every bit the musician and every bit as skilled as the classical musician. It’s just a different system.
Dave Brubeck went to Turkey and was flabbergasted that the folk musicians were so brilliant and improvised on odd meters better than trained Western musicians. That’s what inspired him to write Take 5 (or that’s the myth, anyway). Even in Arabic music, there is the maqamat, a classical learning system of modes and scales, and there is the nagamat system, that of melodies (nagam means melody in Arabic).
What I suggest is a nagamat system: practicing dance–by dancing! (the raqsat system, if you will).
Wait, what about technique?! I roll technique into my practice. I often stop to explore a move, enjoying its path and texture in my body. I fit my movement to the music, listen for and express emotional timbres, respond intuitively, explore and enhance individual movements & vocabulary, develop grace (slow movement), strength (by using the floor), etc etc.
I also practice stagecraft and connection. I roll all of this, too, right into my practice. I “dance like someone is watching.” I challenge myself to be as open as I am in the interoceptive mode while connecting to an “audience.” I dance with my eyes open, and pull out all the performance stops, right in my own room, flirting with the walls, mirror, and the guest who exist far past those physical walls.
This practice style makes me more creative, innovative, and happy. I am always finding new ideas, new avenues, and new elements in my music. I have more freedom, better technique, and a lot more joy–both in dance and in life. Plus my musicality improves, too. This is a pretty significant win-win.
If you want to be a great dancer, it may take more than 20 minutes of practice a day. But if all you have is 20 minutes, you will become a better dancer by dancing–and developing a deep connection to your body and the music–than you ever will by drilling. It may not be the same in other dance forms. But that is how it is in this dance.
The basics of our dance are not that hard. It’s not like ballet, or even Flamenco. It’s super organic, super comfortable on the body. I mean, it’s a folk dance. There’s a learning curve, but you can get most of it in a couple of months. Hell, you can get a lot of it in an couple of hours.
–> The artistry is in the intuitive connection to complex, improvised music, in never doing it the same way twice, in the feeling, in the connection, in the joy.
You can’t drill that.
You have to dance it.
That’s what we’re doing when we practice improv.
Or at least, that’s our path.
Love,
Alia
You might enjoy How to Create Dance Art (CDA), an online composition intensive for improvisation & choreography, coming this spring. http://CreateDanceArt.com
“Alia took the time to read my postings and reply to every one, always with helpful information and insight. I felt that she really understood the different ways people learn and work. We weren’t all the same people. I felt that I was a part of the group but that I was also lucky enough to be taking a private course with Alia.”
“The work is spaced out over a long period of time which allows for a true thinking sift to happen. It’s a lifestyle change not a diet so to speak. I would recommend this course to people who are ready to have a paradigm shift and who have an open mind.”
“it was really amazing in the ways that it helped me to make my dancer richer. Even if it was only in my mind. Because every feeling I have is somehow translated to the audience, and having so much to work with made me feel that I would never be out of ideas. I could do a hip circle 20 times, but if I emoted differently with each one, it would seem different to the audience. Mind blowing.”
There is a special early deal November27-30. Please have a look right away as it is very short term. http://CreateDanceArt.com
Of course, there are specific folkloric dances that have nothing to do with belly dance—no one is arguing about that. But there are others that have been adopted. They are not belly dance as such (Sa’idi stick dance, for example, or Turkish Romani dance), but they are here to stay in our repertoire. So “belly dance,” (a made-up name to begin with), is already inclusive of many fusion elements. Then there are the various forms of “Tribal” dance, from Jamila Salimpour’s Bal Anat through tribal fusion, a host of ethnic and other fusions, and all the theatrical approaches. It’s a mishmash. What do we do with all of these? What do we call them?
I am loathe to kick anyone off the belly dance bus. I have concerns about some things, and will explore them as we go along, never fear. But as we come to understand the soul of the dance, misconceptions fall away. There are qualities of the dance that underlie everything else, and these are where we want to put our focus. The rest is window dressing.
To me, the vital elements of the dance are
I will return to these elements often. This dance is not only as an ancient, beautiful art form. It also has healing, spiritual properties, and is a legitimate mind-body practice that equals yoga, tai-chi, and sitting meditation in its effectiveness and power. Really? Yes.
Sparkly little belly dance has immense power. People are drawn to it because they sense this, though they may not know how to access it. Once they come to a class, they are usually taught a sterilized version: stylized, choreographed, counted, body-control to recorded music. This is not the dance they were looking for. But it is all they see, so okay. Well, it’s not okay with me. I am here to explode this view of the dance. I am here to shine a light on the magic and mystery of our dance.
We are drawn to this dance because we feel something from it. It is real. It is there. The dance waits for you, a hidden seed trembling with life, ready to blossom in your heart and soul. It is beautiful and free and loving–and so are you.
Part IV coming next week…
Most days I get up several hours before anyone else in my family. It is often dark, now that it’s fall here in Vermont. It’s also cold. I hate getting up in the dark, and I hate the cold. I’d prefer to sleep in every morning until it is sunny and warm. But I get up. I don’t like it–but I like myself better when I do it.
I wash up, make some coffee and toast, and take my vitamins. Then I open the file of my book. And then I write. I like to put in at least an hour or 1K words. I often go more and sometimes less. (For a while I was reading every morning, but now I am focused on the writing). After I write, I put in my headphones and pick a dance song on my phone. Once I’m moving, I usually dance for my whole 20 minutes. And then I feel like I accomplished something, all day long, even if the rest of it goes completely to heck.
It’s hard, because when I feel sorry for myself, I tend to get self-indulgent. I slack on things I know are important. I eat crap food. I don’t write–or dance. Then I feel guilty (another big time-waster). Then I feel even sorrier for myself–and the cycle of Resistance continues.
It’s taken me a long time to get to this point of relative consistency. And I don’t always defend my time well. Yesterday I overslept and my Mom got up early. I just stepped back. I wasn’t happy with myself, but I am done beating myself up over the occasional slip. NGAMO, right? No Guilt And Move On.
Today I got up earlier and wrote–but I didn’t fully close the book part of my morning and formally move on to the next task in the chain, the headphones and song. So somehow I didn’t dance.
Little by little, progress comes. I narrow the focus of my intentions and determination, things get done, and they become habits. Accomplishments then become more reliable, and my skills improve, because I get consistent practice, so I feel better about myself. You get the picture, right?
It’s so seductive to let our creativity slip down the back of the sofa. We put ourselves last and swallow our frustration, turning it against ourselves. We waste our lives hating ourselves for our weakness. Hating ourselves is just another trap.
Why do we do this? Some of it is what we learned to do. Some of it is our own fear. Where does the fear come from? Often it’s left over from times we got shamed. Wherever it came form, it’s corrosive to our creativity. Art requires us to take a stand and make something–to move, to put words or ink or paint on the page.
Instead we believe the lies we tell ourselves. It’s no good, I’m no good,. It doesn’t matter. It’s too hard. I don’t care. It’s just…
How do we protect our creative spaces? Our dance habits? Our self-confidence and joy, which are so tied to our creativity?
It starts with showing up. Showing up to do the work. This is a big reason I like taking classes (besides the learning). I have a reason to show up. Someone besides me notices. They’re on my side. I started teaching so I would practice. I still do. Little by little, I grow my habits.
Every day, I learn to show up. When the Muse comes looking, I want to be there.
So do you.
Just show up.
Want some classes to help?
All of these start within the next week.
Rosa Noreen’s teaching one on arms
http://rosanoreen.com/handsandarmsintensive/
Nadira Jamal’s teaching one of developing a sustainable practice
http://www.bellydancegeek.com/practice-habit/
And I’m teaching one on Effortless Improvisation. Daily assignment, accountability, and a great community that has your back. https://aliathabit.com/effortless
Plus, you can double up and win with the Compassionate Critique Salon.
Do you crave honest, objective dance feedback?
(Wish it didn’t hurt so much?)
Announcing: The Compassionate Critique Salon!
The Compassionate Critique Salon. Honest, empowering feedback in a safe environment so dancers can develop the confidence to grow their artistry.
Plus (since one size does not fit all), you get great feedback from *three* professional dance coaches: Nadira Jamal, Rosa Noreen, and Alia Thabit.
Each coach will provide you with encouragement, observations on what to cultivate, and one idea to work on. So you feel good about what you’ve accomplished and have a manageable set of goals.
How do we sign up?
Registration opens October 25th.
Get notified the minute it opens!
http://www.bellydancegeek.com/compassionate-critique-salon/
Special treat for anyone who takes 2 or more of the above classes, too.
You know those little voices that always rag on us to just quit and be done with it? That we will never amount to anything? What does that even mean? Like we will not be world-class famous dancers with tons of money and fame? Why is that the benchmark of success in our dance?
Few of us dance solely for adulation or money. It’s awesome that dance gives us those things, but the dance is deeper than this. It’s the connection to the music we crave—the sense of oneness that we value. Yet all the emphasis is on the pretty girl on stage in a costume.
Most people who do this dance do not teach or perform. They dance with friends at home or at parties. Why would they do that? Dance around the house and play music, women of all ages. A dance of joy. What does that really mean?
This dance has power. We know this. And not all of it in the venue of performance. That in some ways is the smallest of it attributes. Because it is a dance of joy, that is why its performances have power—they bring joy, both to viewers and dancers. That is also why it is so popular offstage as well. Doing or viewing this dance lifts one’s mood. Joy is there for all of us.
I sometimes hear disdain for the “hobbyists.” You know, the ones who take classes, fill workshops, and pay the bills The ones with relatively normal lives who just want to dance and have fun. Because we all should be serious dancers who work hard.
Well, surprise. Maybe the hobbyists have the right idea. I’m all for performance. I am a performer. I love it. Many of us do. I love teaching. I’m good at it. So I get it. I’m not suggesting anyone stop. People feel called to open studios, develop professional companies, dance at birthday parties; I say YES to all of it. But this dance is a folk dance, done by folks, in their homes. And that is a legitimate, honorable relationship with the dance.
What if we stop beating ourselves up for not “going anywhere” with our dance? Think of all the people who do yoga, or tai chi. They don’t look to be performers. Few even look to be teachers. Most of them just go to class, a workshop, a retreat. The activity is part of their life. It gives them physical and emotional benefits. Maybe a community. And they enjoy it.
The same with dance.
The physical interaction with the music is pleasurable in and of itself. And the more in sync we get the better and more beautiful and delicious it feels. Think how lovely our 20 minutes could be if we focused on the sensuality of the moves and their relationship with the music. Right there is a good reason for pursuing mastery. For the pleasure of the activity all by itself. On our own or with friends.
That sounds radical, doesn’t it? Most of us don’t move for the enjoyment of it. We practice to get better. We work. What if we enjoyed ourselves instead?
Something to think about…
Love,
Alia
PS With the encouragement of my friend Mackay Rippey, of Lyme Ninja Radio, I’ll teach a free 4-week web series this fall called Belly Dance Foundation Flow–an exploration of belly dance movement for healing and joy. It will be a lovely, rich experience.
Update: Mackay and I recorded an interview for his podcast;; the web series followed. It is all archived–you can get the recordings here. This is a totally free series. All are welcome.
Music: Fun African mix: https://soundcloud.com/snyk-
My friend Delsie makes art-quality braided rugs. She teaches braiding, too. In her classes, people sometimes get freaked out and fixated on some single-point mistake in their braid that glares at them balefully. They feel their rug is ruined. Delsie usually takes the rug and tosses it on the floor, where rugs go. “Do you see it now?” she asks. Nope. Can’t really see that little glitch from even 5 feet away.
That’s perspective.
Perspective changes how we see things. We draw them out to get a sense of their real size. We change our vantage point to get a more nuanced understanding. When we see a bigger picture, look from a different vantage point, suddenly things change their appearance.
Many of us get fixated on tiny glitches in our dance. We freak out because we didn’t do this or that, or forgot whatever. We don’t like the way we look, or did that move, or whatever. We can’t see the big picture because that one little misbraided knot we are staring at seems so huge.
Sometimes the glitches are bigger. Life can suck pretty bad. Last night I talked with a friend who’s had it pretty rough. I mean hair-raising. You don’t even want to know. It certainly put my penny-ante stress into perspective. Maybe yours, too. That’s the thing about perspective. When we see a bigger picture, look from a different vantage point, suddenly things change their appearance.
But what’s amazing is people’s resilience and commitment to growth. Even though my friend endured some terrible things, she made it through. We don’t all make it, sadly. But most of us do. Our resources and reserves carry us through. Sometimes that’s the thing we have to look at–what worked. What’s good. We celebrate our strengths and what we are doing right. We all have a long way to go–that’s a given. But we need to see where we’ve been and appreciate what we have accomplished in context.
One friend whose resilience astounds me is Amity Alize. She took a huge risk in moving her studio to White River Junction, launched a Kickstarter to cover the expenses of renovation–and then her sweetheart–who was going to do all the renovation basically for a case of redbull–died. Out of the blue. Yet somehow, Amity kept it together. She finished the renovations and opened her studio. Today, just a few months later, is the studio-warming Kickstarter party.
Take a look at how far you have come. What have you overcome to get here? I guarantee it’s more than you think. And more important, too.
If you are in the area, drop by the party today. Live music from 1-4 PM. Fun stuff all day. I’ll be dancing and reading from my upcoming book. Here’s the link: https://www.facebook.com/events/1405163849800467/
Love,
Alia
I discovered Hunter-Gatherers in a college anthropology class. Finally, everything made sense. Hunter gatherers don’t seek to control their environment–they map it. They know where and when the best mushrooms grow–just like I knew the roll of tape was on the floor behind the bathroom door. And they don’t dig up those mushrooms and plant them outside the hovel, either. Just like I never bothered picking up the tape and putting it away. I knew where it was.
In stark contrast are the Agriculturists. Their prime motivation is control of their environment and reduction of risk. Those people would dig up every single mushroom and plant it in their own yard. They collect seeds and hoard them for the spring. They do everything the same way every time, because one slip and their crops might fail. Their world could be lost. So they are careful.
While the agriculturists hoard and plan, hunter gatherers hold feasts and eat up everything in sight. More food will turn up sooner or later. If it doesn’t, well, they will be hungry and put a lot more effort into finding food. It is a boom and bust cycle, one that capitalizes on the seasons, the earth’s bounty, and the vagaries of chance.
In a hunter-gatherer society, risk has value. Boldness, experimentation, and innovation are survival skills.
Agriculturists, however, hate risk. They hate change. They hate mess. They color inside the lines. They walk out on stage with an entire routine scotch-taped to the inside of their forehead.
The ags have taken over the world. They have amassed its riches. They have rejected and oppressed everyone who is different from them, or used those folks to advance their own ends. War is not fought by the old–they send the young to do that for them. They send the adventurers out on adventures, and then rake in the cash when one hits it good. Sure they lose sometimes, but they are calculated risks. And that’s the important difference.
In the field of oriental dance, the ags have come calling big time. They have colonized my beloved dance form with their choreographies, group dances, naming, and owning. I reject all that.
I understand the allure. It makes things easier, it is fun, yadda yadda. But there is a dark side. It destroys the creativity and agency of the student. It values copying over feeling, and perpetuates insecurity, shame, and hierarchy. It is “Strictly Ballroom” all over again.
I don’t stand for any of it.
I stand for creativity and self-expression grounded in traditional oriental dance values. I stand for becoming our true selves in dance and in life. I stand for letting go of limiting beliefs, trauma, and shame and entering into the fullness of our potential.
And there is hope.
Many of the Agiculturist traits are the result of how we are raised. Most people aren’t raised to be artists. They are not raised to trust that everything will work out. To just show up. To say YES.
It’s scary to let go, to seize the moment when you have to double check every decision of your life.
It is a leap of faith to leave the safety net and take the risk of improvisation.
It may be hard at first. Learning can feel uncomfortable and scary. But, but, but–when you hang in there and have faith, when you embrace the challenge, when you let yourself feel the wonder of the wind in your hair…
You can do it.
You can fly.
Fly with me .
Getting on stage is always a thrill–but sometimes it’s a bit scary, too. Whether as dancers, public speakers, or just getting up to recite nursery rhymes for friends, some days can be harder than others.
Whether you have stage fright, some nerves, or just want to go into the performance mindspace, here some things to help.
This is the gift we bring to every audience. This is the level of love that underpins our performances. Remember, every time that you go out to dance is a gift to the world. This is the light you shine into the darkness. The right people will be there, and they will see it. It will be a beacon to them.
Want more?