Today, for the first time in ages, I danced. I moved the furniture in our parlor out of the way and set my computer up to record the event. Here's the video of that. The song is 'Going Insane' by Heuse & Anica. (Stream/download) This song has no special significance to me. I just found it on Youtube yesterday and liked the beat.
There was a time when I danced a lot. I'd dance to electronic music or hip hop at nightclubs and warehouse parties. I'd dance to drums at rainbow gatherings. At concerts here in Minneapolis, where no one dances because they're too self-conscious, I would often be the only one in the crowd actually moving around. Everyone else would just sort of nod their heads and hide behind their beers.
Covid eliminated what few opportunities to dance that Minneapolis had to offer. There's a 'dance church' here, but it happens in the morning, which means I can't participate. So for the last couple of years, I haven't been dancing much at all. I probably would've continued to not dance if it weren't for my awesome friend 
I don't know the names of dances or individual dance moves. When I'm grooving to the music, I have no idea what I'm doing. Today's session was somewhat reserved due to the cramped space. So I didn't do any of the big kicks or twirls I might otherwise have attempted.
Recording the session meant fumbling my way through OBS. I didn't set the bitrate right so the file ended up huge. And I kept looking at the screen to make sure I was still in frame, which made the results a little funny. But I'm happy with the way the video turned out overall.
For me, dance has always had a therapeutic aspect to it. There have been moments in my life when the healing power of dance got me through the darkest of days. When I was living in Brooklyn and was first coming to terms with being cursed by cluster headaches, no one around me had a clue what I was going through. Life as I'd known it was over, my future was a living nightmare, and no one understood, however good their intentions may have been.
Although the physical aspects of my illness were being addressed by some of the best practitioners in the country, there was psychological and spiritual stuff going on that no professional I ever met could effectively deal with. So I'd bring my problems to the dance floor. And that would always get me through another night.
There's something that happens when the boundary between the music and the self blurs. Subtle energies are realigned. The quality of time changes. Untamed primal forces become partners in the production of beauty. All from the simple act of moving to music.
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