when i was a child, a group of adults\u00a0made me show them the hair on my back and how far my arms hung down my legs. they marveled at the dark hair that swirled across my neck and back, took eye measurements of my hands to leg ratio. then after discussing it amongst themselves, they informed\u00a0me\u00a0that my hairiness and long arms indicated my close relationship to the apes. i was different, unusual, apelike, because i had two\u00a0parents of different races. and when two people of different races fuck, they make little animal babies that are a sin against god.<\/p>\n
on a different occasion,\u00a0an adult informed me that i couldn\u2019t be a dancer because i was fat, which was bad enough.\u00a0<\/span>but also because dancers have lovely long necks\u2014swan necks. swan necks highlight a dancer’s gracefulness and beauty and make others feel happy when they look at them. this adult then looked at me and with those measuring analytical eyes, said,\u00a0<\/span>you don\u2019t have that.<\/span><\/p>\n i don\u2019t have that. i don\u2019t have the long swan neck that makes others feel happy just to look at\u2014i have a fat hairy ape neck. i have the neck that proves why race mixing is bad.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n that i am a sin against god doesn’t bother me much, as god and i have never really been all that close anyway. but that i can’t\u00a0dance? that nearly destroys me.\u00a0<\/span>i\u2019ve always danced anyway. i\u2019ve always cranked up music and after carefully composing my own choreography, twisted and turned and swung my way to a standing ovation from an audience of adoring fans. but always in basements. always behind closed and locked doors. even my dear partner,\u00a0Mr. Toast, has only seen me dance my imagination dance once or twice\u2014and just quick glimpses.\u00a0<\/span>i know i don’t\u00a0have a right to be dancing.\u00a0i am a thief, not a dancer. a thief stealing a few moments from the swan necked goddesses who dancing belongs to.<\/span><\/p>\n i’ve always known the link between emotions and body. but as i’ve gotten older, i’ve learned that it\u2019s not just \u201cemotions\u201d and \u201cbody\u201d\u2014it’s far more specific than that. it\u2019s repressed violence<\/em> and illness<\/em>. your liver and gallbladder are intimately linked in much of non-western medicine; when you don’t have boundaries or can’t protect the ones you do have, the gallbladder falls apart, and the liver gets angry. when you can’t tell adults to leave you alone, when you cant see any other choice but to believe you are an ape-like sin against god, your body becomes the only way you can say no. the only way you can be\u00a0angry, and then say no.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n unfortunately, nobody but you can hear your body saying no. and when it is so normal to hear ‘no’ you stop listening after awhile. and then you find yourself like i was. twisted up from the constant spasm of my gallbladder and poisoned by my\u00a0broken liver.\u00a0unable to get out of bed most days, never dancing, not even in private.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n the ape-child was trained as well as the swan necked dancer. stop stealing what was never yours. and shut up about it. even if it hurts. shut up.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n eventually the pain\u00a0gets so bad, i begin to understand that the deal i’ve made is not just to ‘be quiet.’ but to not exist. i read those words, ‘we were never meant to survive,’ and it puts the deal i’ve made out on the table, out in the open for the first time. i poke and prod at the deal, wonder if what it threatens could possibly be true. i feel the oozing burn in my stomach, the twisting claw around my liver. i remember that i suffered thru the agony of yet another gallbladder attack, silent, on the couch, so sleeping family aren’t bothered. and i realize the threats are actually true. threats no more.<\/p>\n and i just can’t accept that deal. i reject it. not forcefully, or even happily. at least not at first.<\/p>\n but\u00a0i do start working with my body, working to unlock it.\u00a0i go to healing sessions (acupuncture, reiki, limpias, never ‘The Doctor’), and\u00a0i can feel my body working to push my brain to the side. my brain, the tyrannical prison guard that took over for those adults, kept me in line even better than they did. \u00a0as my body frees itself from the death grip\u00a0control of my brain, my body begins to recalibrate. in little ways at first.<\/span><\/p>\n a little way: \u00a0mr. toast tries to talk to me while i\u2019m working, i usually stop everything and listen. today i snap at him without even thinking\u2014i\u2019m WORKING. do I bother YOU at work?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n a little way: the kids demanding food food food WE’RE SO HUNGRY! but i am sick. usually i get up to make them something anyway. this time i tell\u00a0them there is cereal and milk or bread for sandwiches. make something. <\/span><\/p>\n the guilt creeps in\u2014and my body revolts. but this time, not against itself. the kids make their own food, then ask me if i want something. mr. toast asks if i am busy the next time he sees me at my work table. it’s ok to say no. i relax. take a nap. and\u00a0keep adjusting.<\/span><\/p>\n in big ways: I listen to a\u00a0live broadcast episode of This American Life\u2014it features a story of a man who, because of different operations to deal with his cancer, has lost the use of one of his arms. he talks of being gay and getting old and having cancer and being a person who used to dance. how much he loved dancing. how much he misses it, even though he was never any good at it. even though. he starts dancing on stage while ira glass softly describes\u00a0his movements to listeners. he is old, gay and has an arm that doesn’t work. and he dances. so he is a dancer.<\/span><\/p>\n of course I cry. and am glad that nobody is home, because the tears quickly turn into The U<\/span>gly Cry. the stretched open mouth, the deep wrenching throat gasps, the snot leaking down the face like melting ice cream. The Ugly Cry for the little girl that just accepted without a fight that she was not human. The Ugly Cry for the grown woman with a tummy full of poison and no way to spit it out.<\/p>\n you reach a certain age, and you just know that there are some dreams that will never happen\u2014you\u2019ll never be a rocket scientist. you\u2019ll never fuck somebody famous. you\u2019ll never play the guitar in front of\u00a0stadiums filled with screaming fans. you reach a certain age\u2014and you just let those dreams go and it\u2019s a bit sad\u2014but it\u2019s ok.<\/span><\/p>\n except i reached that age\u2014and it wasn\u2019t even that i decided to let go of the dream of dancing\u2014<\/span>it was that I never allowed myself to dream at all. i had let go of\u00a0dreaming, erased it\u00a0off my bucket list under the methodical eyes of adults that supposedly loved me. and then spent a lifetime apologizing for even daring to have “dream” on the\u00a0list to begin with. <\/span><\/p>\n i cry so hard i almost\u00a0throw up. out comes the poison, out comes the outrage, out comes the decades of no no no no\u2026except i see the ‘nos’ now for what they are. the answer i was never allowed to have. and then the answer i learned to never give.<\/span><\/p>\n the dog walks over from his pillow, sits with his head on my lap. the cat moves to the back of the couch, so his body wraps around my head. i trust that the universe is letting me know it is ok to live life. that it is ok to live. <\/span><\/p>\n i decide that it is time to trust the universe.<\/span><\/p>\n that night after my kids get home, we watch the opera Carmen. It\u2019s a catchy opera that is a lot more accessible than other operas are, but even so, it’s still an opera and both kids sneak upstairs after a while. I am ok with them leaving,\u00a0because as soon as they leave, i stand up. first i just pace in front of the radio. but soon, the music wraps around me, lifts my arms,\u00a0and i dance. i swirl and twirl and practice angling my fingers with delicate precision. i think i am being quiet\u2014but kids have bat-like hearing, especially when they think their parents are enjoying themselves. almost immediately, they are downstairs doing that kid thing… what are you doing, what was that noise, why are you doing that, what is going on, i thought i heard something, can i do it too?<\/span><\/p>\n i stop at first, and start to tell them to mind their own business. but then my body takes over.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n that body that is the universe.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n that universe that i trust.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n and then\u00a0i am dancing. right in front of them. they’ve never seen me dance, except to slow dance with mr. toast. they are stunned for a minute, sharing astonished glances with each other. I turn up the opera and twirl a tight pirouette. then one kid laughs\u00a0and dives under me. rolls around on the ground and finishes with a brilliant head toss, hair flying everywhere.\u00a0the other child laughs and sort of tackles the first one, but elegantly. they both get up and kick their legs and hop around to the beat of the music. they are dancing. they are dancing because I<\/em><\/strong> am dancing. they are dancing with me.<\/span><\/p>\n i am a dancer who has changed the world.<\/span><\/p>\n i am a dancer.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" when i was a child, a group of adults\u00a0made me show them the hair on my back and how far my arms hung down my legs. they marveled at the dark hair that swirled across my neck and back, took eye measurements of my hands to leg ratio. then after discussing it amongst themselves, they […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":113,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"twitterCardType":"","cardImageID":0,"cardImage":"","cardTitle":"","cardDesc":"","cardImageAlt":"","cardPlayer":"","cardPlayerWidth":0,"cardPlayerHeight":0,"cardPlayerStream":"","cardPlayerCodec":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=84"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":257,"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84\/revisions\/257"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/113"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=84"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=84"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sundaymorningeasy.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=84"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}