The Christmas Dance
a true story from the Gypsy Ashram
At Christmas time she plays reggae music instead of Christmas carols…
When you ask her why, she just smiles and gets that far-away look in her eye….
She starts to sway… a little unfurling of what’s always going on inside her.
She usually keeps it hidden from view, but there are times when it simmers…and there are times when it boils and spills over.
If she’s not careful, it will be oozing all over the floor.
This kind of thing had tripped her kundalini trigger before she even knew she had one…
But that is a whole other story…
This Christmas tale begins in the big city of Atlanta.
Our girl is making her way half-heartedly through the crowds of harried holiday shoppers.
She frankly wondered what all the fuss was about.
To be sure, it was fun searching for just the right gift for her friends, but did it really have to be this crazed?
Everyone around her was frantic at this late hour on Christmas Eve.
How come her version of the Christmas Spirit was so out of sync with everyone else’s?
She wondered…
The tinny music, the crass commercialism with all its tacky bric-a-brac and the suffocating phoniness was all becoming too much for her.
She needed some air…
She maneuvered herself to the nearest store exit, gave a final squeeze past last-minute shoppers and landed on the street, more or less intact.
She gathered herself up and headed for the nearest quiet street.
She needed to shake off some of that weird santa stuff…..
She caught a glimpse of color and movement out of the corner of her eye…
Something that didn’t quite fit with the rest of the scene.
Hmmm!
Now, that’s a curious sight! What’s HE doing here?!
There was this strangely out-of-place black man dressed in voluminous brightly colored patchwork pants, further mismatched by a baggy purple sweater.
Tall, rangy, angular and yet somehow loose and easy in his skin.
His hair was done up in huge dreadlocks topped by an enormous floppy knit hat of many colors.
He was standing on the sidewalk…well, not exactly standing….he was dancing… and in the most light-hearted way…right in the middle of the holiday fray.
At first she thought he was some deranged person, but that didn’t seem quite right.
She watched, spellbound...
Nope, she decided…not deranged. Possibly drunk, though.
Well, upon further reflection…maybe not drunk.
He had to be ‘high’ on ganja or something. That was it, for sure…
She gave herself a little shake and reminded herself there was more shopping to finish. She headed off to the next shop on her list, hoping she could find the rest of her presents and be done with it all.
She meandered through the aisles of the shop, half-forgetful of her tasks.
The image of the dancer lingered in her mind.
Though no one else had seemed to pay the slightest attention to him, watching him had given her a kind of quirky lift.
He was so…so….free…and joyful!
He was not hooked in to all the holiday claptrap and nonsense.
Though she always prided herself on not being part of that culture,
she could see that she still had a foot stuck in that world...
Maybe that foot would be better off dancing, she mused…
She paid for her things, feeling just a little guilty and not sure why….
Maybe she would keep an eye out for him as she made her rounds and drop some money in his basket…
She pressed on, ticking things and people off her list.
She thought she saw him once more, but the throngs obscured her vision and she mentally shelved the idea for later.
Suddenly she realized how hungry and cold she was.
She remembered a cozy little place around the next corner.
She was in the mood for a bowl of homemade soup and a nice hot cup of tea…
Once inside, she made her way to a table by the window.
She would just people watch for awhile, warm her toes and sip tea.
Once settled, she looked up and to her surprise...there he was again!!
Despite the wind and the cold, he was still dancing happily all by himself on the street corner.
The crowds had thinned considerably by now and she had an unobstructed view.
He was so much fun to watch, all loose and jangly, bouncing to some reggae beat with the most joyous abandon.
She felt like she had a ringside seat to the best show in town.
She wondered again if he was a Panhandler.
Or maybe…he was entertaining the crowds to make a little extra money.
But no one stopped to offer him any coins.
They just walked wide circles around him pretending he wasn’t even there.
There was something about his happiness that was just contagious!
How could they not notice that!?
She squirmed in the booth, itching to boogie a little herself.
How long had it been?
Way too long…again.
The waitress brought her food, and she warmed herself with it, but in truth she was so taken with the dancing reggae man that she barely tasted it.
He was just the most JUBILANT human being she’d ever laid eyes on…
She looked at her watch…He had been dancing for hours!
Imagine having nothing better to do than dance all day long?
She envied him.
As she gazed out the window, she noticed another curious thing. He didn’t have a tip basket.
Well, that didn’t compute. Why else would he be out there for hours on end dancing?
Then she realized he didn’t have a boom box or any other visible source of music.
So what was he dancing to?!
How does one dance without music?
Then, in a sudden flash of insight, she understood!
He was indeed dancing to the music.
But the music was all on the inside of him… and the joy it evoked was just spilling over, flooding the world with Joy Unspeakable…
What could he do but dance?
He bounced along doing his magical rasta shuffle with his head thrown back in joy, gazing heavenward.
He seemed to be almost in a trance.
It moved her in such a deep and mysterious way…
She watched, mesmerized, vowing to herself that she would go straight home, throw down all her packages, kick off her boots and dance like mad
till she dropped in happy ecstasy herself.
It was then that she recognized the Spirit of Christmas that she herself felt.
When it was finally time to go, she left the little café and lingered for one last moment to watch him dance. She needed to imprint this memory forever.
All of a sudden…the rasta man’s head gave a jerk, and he lowered his gaze and fixed her in his sight. His gaze went right through her… like an arrow to her soul. She was riveted to the spot.
He laughed and he called out to her, pointing his long arm at her right in front of everybody.
‘Sister…Sistah! You remember! You remember!!!’
She gave a little whoop! And she started to dance…the Christmas dance…
And she never stopped again…
*****
This was the start of many special Christmas Dances…
Every year, I seek to connect with the Real Thing…and every year I am met with a moment of connection.
I never know what to expect, in which direction to look, or what form it will take…
But every year, the precious Connection is made…
Wishing you a Christmas Dance…💖
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