In this small life, I have danced. In this immense life, I have danced. And, the dance has taken me home. The dance has shown me who I am, how I feel, how I express, how I enter relationship with God and with other people. It has been a mirror, a guide, a teacher, a friend, a master and a lover. It has been alternately a sanctuary and an addiction, a discipline and a release, space to feel my separation and a blissful return. It has been and is all the colors of my life.
I started dancing when I was 13. I used to lock myself in the dance room at lunchtime and dissolve myself in movement. I choreographed prolifically. I made dances that came from a mysterious place inside me about love and war and birth and death. For four years in a row, they had to makes a special award for me for “best choreographer.” Dance was a natural path of awakening that happened beyond my thinking or deciding. Once I started dancing, it was pure desire and knowing that guided me. I had a passion that was unstoppable, taking after school jobs from the age of 15 to pay for more after school dance classes and clothing. The drive came from my body, my heart and my emotions. No amount of parental disapproval could deter me. Some part of me always knew it was spiritual. I knew I was touching God. I knew I was moving the Void. I knew that my passion was a holy passion far greater than myself. Nothing could stop me from dancing.
I went to college at University of California Santa Cruz, and in that liberal environment created a never before heard of degree called Social Theory and the Dance. My major proposal was a refutation of the Cartesian split: “I think therefore I am.” These words and the discourse of empirical science begun by Copernicus some 300 years earlier, split us from our bodies and the primacy of our own experience as evidence for true knowledge. The path of study I created for myself broke down the Body/Mind split that has been at the heart of education for the last 500 years, and invited the return to experience as a means of knowing. I was totally committed to re-connecting meaning, experience and knowing.
Later, I moved to San Francisco where I danced professionally for many years, and had my own performance company. When I wasn’t dancing, I dove deep into yoga, finding a place where I could be in my body with no mirrors, no outer reflection at all, only my inner experience and the sound of my breath. In 1997 while catching a man half again as big as me, I received a major knee injury – a gift in disguise. It taught me my first lessons in real perseverance and humility and it sent me into the study of somatics and healing. I also began studying permaculture and went deeper into improvisational explorations- still dissolving in the dance. Finding in it my medicine, my prayer. In 2000, I again injured my knee.
This time, I found that I could also hate the dance. I was angry. I felt broken. I felt betrayed. I dissolved into yoga. Months later, I found myself dancing wildly on a red rooftop in India. I had my walkman tucked into my tank top blasting Keith Jarret. The skies were a purple tempest of monsoon clouds, lightning and sunset. I was crying uncontrollably. I knew I was home. Dancing again.
What felt like a betrayal was another opportunity to recognize that the great dance is life, and that the dance always, always goes on. We choose the way we feel and interpret our own experience. We choose our own story. I knew that the dance was me, and I was the dance, and that no ideas about perfection or form could ever really keep me from dancing. I knew that the only thing n the way of my dance was fear. The only thing in the way of my freedom was fear. From this solitary moment, Dancing Freedom was born. I knew every floor as my church, every space as my temple. And, I began to recognize my fellow dancers as my spiritual companions, my sangha. I have known other practices, other temples, other prayers. But this one is the one that always, always shows me the truth and returns me to love.

