The Very Naked Days...

It seems that this part of my journey is to be taken naked. Baring my bones, removing clothes and flesh and the cozy coverings of hiding places. Taking off the pretty make-up that transforms flaws into perfection. How much courage it takes to step up onto a stage alone, to pour one's heart out on a public page, to shear one's head into a camera lens... to be naked. So few of us explore the cleansing and healing powers that come from nakedness of heart.

Life has gotten a bit unbalanced for me recently. Or not so recently, but certainly has culminated in some shaky ground of late, which in turn has uncovered an earthquake fission of insecurities. On the tail of that earthquake, which I am not elaborating on due to the impossible depth and breadth of its source, rides opportunities and possibilities galore... I am hanging onto that tail for dear life, but it seems that all my coverings and clothings are flying off right and left, leaving nothing but pure "me." If I let go long enough to grab at some of my dignities, I will be a goner, so here I am, riding naked....but still alive.

I will start with my passion for the Irish dance. I started Irish dance classes mid-February of this year. Learning Irish dance means UN-learning the things my body was taught about ballet. Most of them anyway. It isn't an easy thing to "un-learn" something. Practice, practice, practice. I practised Irish dance, thought Irish dance, talked Irish dance...making my friends surely a bit annoyed with this topic posting in their faces day after day. I never knew such dancing existed... oh the energy and the beauty and the intricacy of it! And mostly, the history and ancient tradition of this dance that awakened in my blood, my Irish blood that recognized and celebrated its knowing, finally able to express the hidden origin of spirit.

Irish dancers compete. With themselves, mostly, but also with and against other Irish dancers. Challenging their feet to fly higher, faster, sharper, lighter... We compete in an important event called a feiseanna, or feis (pronounced fesh) which incorporates Irish music along with dance in a weekend long competition in which dancers can "graduate" into levels and of course get medals and trophies to prove their gained skills. Most of the competitors are children...very young to young adult. And the dresses, costumes, of the young dancers are simply amazing... almost ridiculously intricate and extravagant... costing upwards into the thousands of dollars.

Well, it isn't so glamorous or even popular, to be a Beginner Adult Irish dancer. It takes work and time and lots of energy and concentration that most adults do not have. We have to make ourselves practice around school schedules, laundry and housekeeping routines, soccer practices, cheer-leading, dance classes and meal preparations, to say nothing of the doctor appts and vet care and things that make up an adult's life in addition to earning a living. So, yeah, there are not many of us out there who are not so exhausted by daily life that we find a wee dance class to be relaxing. Not much thought is given to the adults, in the Feis competitions, although I believe a little more attention is being given nowadays as the adult numbers slowly grow.

After much hesitation, and not a little fear, I joined the small rank of Adult competitors. I felt good about my dances, well, as good as I could being so new at them. Having had quite a nice ballet background, I felt confident in my toe pointing, although I haven't used those muscles in years...the feeling came back soon enough. I felt ready to compete as a beginner. Adults don't get to wear the fancy dresses until they are really really good, so I was happy enough in my little black skirt, white blouse and black tights. I felt it made me less conspicuous, and also able to hide any insecurities I had about body issues... simple is best...black is best...now if I just didn't pee my pants, I would be fine. (there is a fair amount of jumping to do, you know... anyone who is a mommy will know exactly what I am talkin' about)...

Luckily, for me, the competition has accommodated the status of Adult Beginner. This particular feis, my first feis, was in Charlotte, NC and there were only TWO participants competing as Adult Beginner. I was one of them. I looked my competitor over, head to toe, and felt truly satisfied that I would do well... I looked like a dancer (in my mind) and I was confident in my hours of practice. Our turn came. We walked up the steps to the stage. Somehow, I knew what it felt like to be a prisoner walking to the gallows. I could feel my heart beat way up in my forehead. I thought for sure my new shiny headband was expanding and contracting blatantly with each heart beat. I remembered to stand and wait for the music with my feet in Irish Feet position. I looked at the audience and noticed not ONE single face, but a whole sea of faces, standing room only. Naked. I was naked. Everyone could see that I didn't know what I was doing. I focused on a spot on the floor to remember my first step...then heard my teacher's voice, "head up" and my head flung up as the music started. My first step was completed, well done... my feet took over and somehow I got through the Reel and was bowing to the judge. One dance down, three more to go.

A repeat for my Light Jig. I was gaining confidence. Did it. Danced it... kicked high, pointed toes... I was REMARKABLE. I ROCKED. Yay!!! Feeling damn proud of myself I went to my seat. My friend came to get me, excited that the scores were posted for my first two dances. It took forever to wind through the hallways to get to the score board. He was so excited for me, surely I must have gotten first place!

Lesson number one. Do not look at scores until ALL dances are done. I saw 2nd place after my name. Does not compute. My heart fell. My friend is just about jumping up and down (he obviously has a better way of looking at scores, being much more experienced than I...lol) "See? Sheree...you got 2nd place!" I just looked at him and said in a dead voice...."there were only two people dancing. I got LAST place." (I am well recovered this day to be able to write this with such ease...lol)

My third dance was a Slip Jig. Much more difficult than the other two dances for me, since I learned it last and apparently practised it less. With the heaviness of heart that comes with defeat, my lead feet schlumped up the never ending 3 steps onto the stage. Trying to shake off the disappointment, I smiled and squared my shoulders, in Irish Feet of course. The music started, I took a couple of steps into my first step and .... forgot my dance. There was no turning back... I tried to keep dancing but it turned into my Reel, which does NOT flow with Slip Jig music. I folded. Remembering to bow to the judge, I said "sorry" and tried not to cry. She gave me a second chance (I'm sure taking pity on me, and feeling fortunate that I did not throw up on her stage) and I promptly forgot my 2nd step again. That was the end of that. Reduced to the level of Court Jester, I swept off the stage gathering all the dignity I could find in so many levels of nakedness. And of course, I scored First Place in that dance, since I had no competition... if I had known that, I would have stayed up on stage and just did my dance drills from class all across the floor....! All in all I ended up with either 3 Second places and 1 First place score...or 3 Last places and 1 Undeserved First Place sympathy score. Depending on who I want to impress. But nakedness certainly came into play that day.

Following that day, I ended up having a Dermatology Appt for a Skin Scan. Anyone knowing me at all will tell you that I have been a Sun Worshipper since the day I discovered BabyOil and Lemon Sun-In, way back in the 60's. All my life people were predicting my death due to skin cancer. I figured I was naked already, and really really humbled, I might as well know for sure. I was stripped and naked and the doc looked in every hidden place imaginable..leaving NOTHING unscanned or unstudied. Not only did I pass inspection with flying colors, and multiple compliments upon my good fortune to have inherited my daddy's more French-Canadian Olive skin, but I learned such big lessons all weekend...and standing there in nothing but my skin I felt PRIDE. Way to go me... to look at my own internal nakedness and come out stronger. Courage is facing fears in spite of fear.... and little thing or big thing Courage is Courage. These are my naked days.