What happens on the dancefloor

This last weekend, I went dancing. I went dancing in Byron Bay. Land of creative lords and legends of the sea. We flew down especially to see two song women sisters. I felt an imperative drive to do this, a whirlwind adventure, the first since I became a mother. Leaving my love and my son, I was off. Away I went to spin wild dervishes in the dark. As I danced, stark clarity entered my mind. Processes of my self, apparent in each movement my body created of its own accord. Shifting energy, feelings of being lesser than. The moments so thunderous I tried to escape them once, yet there I was, back again, in the flow of the dance vortex. The strangest thing happened. The dance of dark and light coalesced into the same dance to show me there was no separation, and this “separation” was the single most influencing notion that had kept us back in the dark ages. I would like to start with thanking each and every musician and creator out there who digs their own soul. Those who expose themselves to strangers in the hope they can dig their own soul too. In the hopes they can catch a glimpse of the source energy they found within themselves. Connected through creativity, we can grow into a new world. That is the beauty and magic of creation. Beginning again and finding something new... Digging the gold from the vortex of source that sound creates. how blessed we are to share in this dance. As we prepared to enter the community centre in byron bay, we saw the space laid out by the christian youth across the street, offering pancakes and chai. I giggled to myself as i thought, “Everything has a price”. The thought that anyone could still hand over their sovereignty of divinity astounds me. I guess it always has. I don’t believe in God. I believe in me. I believe I am here for a reason, and every time I catch a glimpse of another soul in truth, it reaffirms my own. For this I am grateful of being a keen observer. Still, I can’t help but reiterate that you should not hand over your own divining abilities to an external source, to an intermediary. God is not defined by old men sitting in gold lined rooms while children around the globe starve in silence. It should not and I don’t think my soul will be at peace until the entire world realises this and eats them up. There was a new zealand band playing before the song women, a father and son and beautiful female percussionist and singer. Matui they were called. As I danced to them I couldn’t help but analyze the sounds being created on stage before me. The guitar being strummed by the father, a resplendent culmination of his polynesian ancestry as he took centre stage, though strangely enough, I couldn’t help but be transfixed by the keyboardist, his son. As I stood watching him, I could feel an immense sadness coming from within him. His tones on the keyboard seemed to be anchoring everybody to the spot, keeping us lower lower lower, taking us down deeper deeper deeper. I felt like I could have stirred the room like a bubbling pot on the stove, the gravity seemed to be immense, I could almost sense the other two musicians noticing and trying to bring the tempo back up to cover what the boy child at the keyboard was doing. His low gutteral tones creating vast harmonies as he opened his mouth to sing, eyes closed. The flickering of his eyes as he lost himself in tones seemed to make them flutter and he at once became “other than” before my eyes. This child was a harmonic genius. The words entered my mind that he was a fallen crying angel, and the part within me that also identified with that felt a thread go out to this man boy child genius. The innocence within me sang out to him silently, “hey, what are you doing”, and the music rang out with the sounds of the guitar, “I will be love”..
It was funny though, because I didn't really believe it, there was a certain sort of sinister laying below the tones imbued through the keyboard. Maybe it was just keys trying to be the bass. Maybe it was just teenager angst. I wasn't sure then, and I'm even less sure now. I can only take things at their word, I reminded myself, as I was induced to the dance once more. Fantastic rhythms, melody and percussion. the whole room was absorbed into the lights emanating from the musicians on stage. I think this is what most of the simpleton religious folk were on about back in the 50's. We just fear what we don't understand, trained to hate it in the fight for the man. The daily grind simply washes away in the throes of the dance, in the flow from the source. Harmony in unity can be found on a comfortable dance floor. True understandings and revelations have always been found here. Which is why it is the most powerful force we might ever have, besides the music itself. Music is a weapon. Make no mistake. You will know when you feel lighter. When you feel better, you will face yourself and there is no hiding from the shame of what you are, down there in the dark, meeting yourself in dimensions unknown. So most people are scared of who they will find down there. Myself, I was still in the wrestle. The demand for delineation of good and bad, light and dark. 'It was never going to happen', my higher, more innocent self exclaimed silently. That is the pulpit from which the fanatical devotees of the afterlife scream in fervent spittle; undue distinction. Set high on its pedestal of pseudo-righteousness. And we all bought it. Up until now. Hence their presence out the front. Scared of the hole those still shameless enough to dance had found themselves in. Who knew, on other levels, in that state of place, that we were casting phosphorescent rainbows up and into the night. I spent most of the other songs, making friends with the frequencies surrounding my body, letting myself meld into the seemingly benevolent deeper energies. Little did I know then, that Byron is said to be an intersection point of many important "leylines" that criss-cross the globe as believed by many of the neo-agers. Supposedly lines of black obsidian streaking through the soil and stones all around, not to mention many other forms, stones, pyramid mountain alignments and smaller intersections. I can only begin to imagine what it was like in the 70's. And strangely enough, the memories come through, like I have seen it, or those before me have sent thorough reminders through the signposts left, that this, this was the heritage. Sun, surf, music, living in freedom of expression, helping others. The broken and the beautiful of Byron Bay. The music and the emotion of Byron Bay. Coming back from the state of being that free dancing creates, the songs seemed to be coming to an end, High melodies sending tingles, voices in Mauri tongue, escalating in ferocity, hunger, harmonics, crescendo of energetics as the music got slower and slower and slower. They ended their performance with a Haka. Traditionally, a war cry, an intimidation tactic, this one would be for love they said, I was semi-incredulous. The keyboard player lit up a little from within, tearing his shirt off to reveal a huge carving on his chest, paua shell, in a juicy big hook. Tribal tattoos in a simple line down his spine. His fathers carving; a traditional green stone jade. I noted, a sense of knowing full well they knew just who they had here. Assuming the pose of a well seasoned warrior, in the centre of his two companions, the devil in this angel child came to life. Eyes bulging from his skull, tongue poked nearly down to his chest it seemed, as he made the show of this wild wild dance. Arms blazing, up and down, seeming to garner energy, again, I was transfixed, and in the struggle once again; is he really fucking doing that?! After this whole time of thinking he was some kind of demon child with the ability to harness and cultivate energy, here he is, gathering it, pulling it up from the ground with his arms, eyes ablaze in the fire and fury of a demon. I couldn't help but just stare in open eyed admiration for his pulsing primal energy. Eyes wide in wonder at this demon angel before me. This is what the sleepers are afraid of. Raw power, ancient energy. The future youth. The un-drugged, the mighty. Welcome back to the dance floor, my future self smiled. Right now my head was almost rolling in wonder. Double taking my self, and my summations of what just went on, in the wild dance of my mind, body and soul. The song sisters were about to enter the stage. Looking at the two of them, they seemed to show, just in themselves and the way they harmonised and interacted, one in white and flowers, the other in black strings draped across her chest and a black headscarf. Light and dark, neither good, nor bad, better together, part of each other. Together in unity. Forever we dance, until we move in the unfettered motions of one love, one goal, a better planet, for us and all our futures. !