The East Awakens

A peice of writing I wrote for a class in school. A hindu dancer came to our class and performed for us, and I must say, it was pretty fuckin exotic. Something sweet's in the air in the East.

Exoticism’s Dream-Dancer

Impatiently waiting for class to begin, I recede within my mind and attempt imagining the harmony and grace of the great Hindu dance. Sure, I’ve seen them on the television, but experiencing this firsthand would be something else. I begin to imagine a young lady swaying her bodily motions to the crying of the sitar; rapidly, almost spastically, rearranging the focus of her deep stare that seemed to be reaching out beyond reason Then suddenly the reverie vanished deep into the vaults, and was replaced by the image of the lady: beyond the beauty of the dream-dancer, dressed in the colors of fire. Although fully aware she had attended the same school I was currently attending, I nevertheless fell into the strange haze of exoticism – feeling almost entirely encompassed by this foreign culture because of a single person. And then the dance began…

Sitars speaking to foreign gods, voices crying for salvation, ankle-bells jumping frantically, and all the while amidst this auditory chaos the dream-dancer finds peace. A harmony of her soul seemed to sit like a smoky fog surrounding each movement of her body. Her being became enveloped in grace, captivating my every thought, and luring me into the mysteries of the East.

There is something remarkably transcendent about the way in which the Hindu dance experience presents itself. For five minutes or so (although all focus of time was buried beneath a heavy intrigue) I became removed from myself, completely fixed upon the fire-dancer and her insurmountable beauty and balance. When I returned to the realm of my own understanding I reflected upon dance as a means of praise, and in doing so, a shred of discontent began swelling within me, longing to be part of a culture saturated with something other than greed. Now she’s gone.