raise my eyes to the heavens,
my palms pressed together,
thanking God for Uma’s smile.
Like a farmer welcoming a long-awaited monsoon
I dance onto the empty stage
beneath the shaggy banyan tree.
A crescent moon is barely visible
in the mauve glow of the evening sky.
In it
I see the crescent caught in Shiva’s matted locks.
In it
I see the crescent scar on my residual limb.
I shift my weight from one leg to the other,
turning in a circle.
Slowly.
Each green leaf above
looks purer and brighter than ever.
For my invisible audience
of the One
I
begin
to dance.
Colors blur into whiteness
and a lilting tune
that is and is not of the world
resonates within
and without me.
My body
feels
whole.
In the beat of my heart
I hear
again
the eternal rhythm
of Shiva’s feet.
REACHING IN
“Good.”
I look up to see Dhanam akka
standing in front of me.
“Good,” she repeats.
A word I’ve never heard
her say to me until today.
“I am a teacher and yet
there are limits to what I can teach.
I cannot teach a student how to create
the sacred space a meditative dancer enters,
and so invites her audience to enter.
She must discover it on her own.
Alone beneath this banyan tree today
you danced without any desire for acclaim.
So your dancing feet led you
into the temple of the dancing Shiva
where they will always lead you, and those who watch,
as long as you dance for your vision of the sacred.
You carried my soul to a great height.
Thank you.”
I
should be thanking
her.
“I’d like you to start
solo lessons with me,” akka continues.
“But, akka—
I’m not yet—I’m not advanced enough.”
“Aren’t you?” Laughter
spills out of akka,
her mouth
thrown open so wide
I can see both rows of her teeth.