Boredom took the form of low-output and kicked me out to find exciting things to do. A few tries here and there, then an Instagram post got me off my couch of apathy.
It wasn’t the way she gripped the pole and strut. It was the look on her face that piqued my interest. She looked like a winner; this woman in super-tight athletic short and bralette, with socks that extended above her knee. She had happiness, in layers, floating over her face. You could touch her mettle. It was evident in the way she twisted, turned and slid.
Hands on the pole, lift, swing, split and do the impossible.
I watched her a few times and found grace in her movements. The kind you find in ballet and royal residences. She was dancing alone to a song with deep lyrics and had gotten transported to a place of oneness with her inner being. I could see an ongoing conversation between her body and her core, as she kept searching for value and answers within herself, while pushing boundaries and taking home the gems she found along the way.
And I wanted that. I wanted that depth. That power to trigger invigoration from the elixir buried in one’s self. I wanted those golden tongues of flame flowing through her in cycles, which started from a source in her.
It was such a breathtakingly beautiful sight. This wasn’t a woman who was dancing to satiate the itches of maleness. Instead, she was manipulating balance, agility, motor coordination and rhythm to build a strong body and a healthy mind.
At her studio, she told me that pole dancing is an expression of faculty over elements. It is how she refuels and boosts her spirit. Sometimes, she also uses it to quieten noise and the voices that break. She said, the movements can be stories narrated by her soul. Or they can be an articulation of her feelings. And she does not recognize any rule.
Hands on the pole and express yourself. Let your story flow through. Tell it with panache and listen for the words that will jump into your consciousness. Those words can be used for building and healing. When you hear them, express them as movements and allow yourself to have fun.
Here. Try. She told me.
So I went, hands on the pole, wiggle and drop. Up and lift. Slide and split. And it wasn’t a bad first try. As with every art without rules, the freedom to explore every combination yielded movements that attracted different levels of appreciation, from different people.
Time moved, along with our twirl and enduring immersions into the world of self.We Stretched. Curled. Flopped and rolled. And I felt my blood flow more freely. Both of us had gotten into our private places of finer feelings. For me it was more contentment and clarity than anything else. And for once, in several weeks, I was feeling enough. I was seeing and feeling the real me and how I made me feel. Suddenly, I could see how I can get life done, beautifully. I thought, I can twist this way or that way and cause ripples that will ignite the results I want. Or I can position myself upside down, or sideways, and change how things are seen.