Last Sunday, during meditation, I closed my eyes and tried to open myself to the divine. What I saw was a cerulean blue sky, crowded with fluffy cumulus clouds and, leaning over from the breast up, what could only be the feminine divine. As she reached her hand down to mine, I reached up to touch hers with mine. When our fingertips touched, I knew she was signaling an inside turn. God was leading me to dance.
And so I have danced. This week, I have spent over an hour-and-a-half running through my choreography, losing weight in the process. I am now down to 190 pounds and feeling good. On Tuesday, our group decided what moves we are going to add to the first 16 beats and proceeded to practice them while we drilled the entire choreography over and over again, sweat streaming down my body. Because the class stayed late, many of the girls left without a cool-down, and feeling that maybe we wouldn't be having one, I started to leave, too--until I noticed that the instructor went into cool-down routine. I joined the four other girls as we stretched our warmed up joints out. There are only two class periods left: one for the final drill, and one for the final assessment.
I took Deborah to a showing of Two-Spirits at The Tower this week, and she took me to see Connected at Westminster College where I have my Belly Dance class. Both movies were well done and are a must to see when they come out on PBS.
Thursday evening I was asked if I can help someone do their makeup. I was a bit shocked, since it took me three makeovers to get mine right. The most I can do is show her the way I do mine to get her started; unlike the way I was snubbed when I asked for similar help in San Fransisco in 2007.
Deborah's off on her bicycle trip across the state of Utah for the next couple of weeks with Aere. I will miss her.
Last night, I went with Robin to support her while she supported her boyfriend. The venue was at a VFW out near a copper mine in Magma. The feel was incredibly redneck and I felt very anxious just stepping out of my car on the way to the bar. The high-heels I was wearing clacked noisily on the pavement, because the left heel was down to the nail. I'll miss that pair. It was the first pair of heels I ever bought, when I came out in San Francisco a few years ago. As I walked into the club, I was greeted by a couple of older vets, and one of them--Fred--said, "God, she's beautiful," as I walked toward my friend at the bar. Robin went to talk to him later and he kept asking her, "Who's your tall girlfriend? I like tall women." Later in the evening, Robin and I were accosted by a group of vets who were trying out all kinds of flirtatious come-on lines. At one point, one of the gentleman, shaking my limp hand, said, "You've got a grip." Knowing not to go there, I kept my silence.
The woman, Sandra, who designed my costume came over today to help me repair the bra and to check on me. When she arrived, I was near the end of my practice, struggling to get a twelfth time through the routine without a serious error and, of course, was drenched in sweat. When I told her what I was just doing, she said, "Let's see it." So, miraculously, I finally made it through the 12th repetition. I was elated when she said the words, "Much better." Of course, I had already come out to her a couple of weeks ago. She had more questions, trying to understand my sexuality, especially wondering why I didn't let Deborah express her male side. Once I explained that it was because Deborah was doing it knowing I preferred women, we pressed our conversation further.
Sandra is eager to help me when I get back from Thailand. She lives just down the street. When I invited her to my Send-Off in two weeks, she begged me to remind her the day before. A belly dancer herself, she was curious. As she was leaving my place, she asked, "Are there any more like you?"
"What do you mean?"
"That like to dance [meaning belly dancing]."
"Not that I know of."
"You really are unique."
Hugs and God Bless,