Thunderstruck

Wanting to move my body today, feeling the stiffness of inactivity. I was in the shower earlier, hoping hot water might trace its way to the source, loosen what feels rigid beyond this physical body. Water is a soulful conduit, and in times of need, it’s where I go to sort myself.

”Thunderstruck” by AC/DC came on, and I closed my eyes. I felt my heart beat in my chest, came back to my breath. Water, breath, heat, sound, and something deeper, something familiar. Is it a wonder I don’t have gills, but then I also love the earth. Land-based Pisces that I am.

Wandering through the house today, I could feel an earthy beat, a bass pluck on heart string, deep and rhythmic. And just now, hip circles and a shimmy while brushing my teeth.

When I forget myself, when I lose my way, the surest return is body-centered. It’s movement and connection. Skating. How long has it been? Before the knee injury. Belly Dancing? Even longer. I do yogic stretches most days, and always before I write. Maybe it’s that connection—mind and body—that when disconnected, if even a little, makes spirit a fleeting thing. At least for me.

Hours later, sleepless in bed. Restless. I feel a tingle in my spine, like fingers tracing—no, tapping up and down the boney xylophone of my back. I toss aside the covers and go draw a bath. Hot water, soaking salts, my phone. I see AC/DC as last played, which sends me down, down, down a Diana Bastet rabbit hole. Tribal belly dance meets metal. Unusual, yet not. She’s gorgeous, strong, sensual, and grounded. She does her own thing and doesn’t give a fuck about fitting in, conforming to what’s expected. Look her up: Diana Bastet and the Vimeo of “Thunderstruck” or maybe Sepultura’s "Ratamahatta." In This Moment's "Sick Like Me" is good too. You’ll see what I mean. This isn’t the dance of a thousand veils. This is strength and power and wild sensuality channeled through the body.

Diana, the original warrior woman and now this modern version of Goddess, they remind me that women are deep love but ought not to be bullied or browbeaten. We are part of a sacred sisterhood of womanly form, of hips and breasts and bellies. We partner with men and women, a part of love and community, not apart from it. Rhythm meets melody meets body meets mind as a tribal telling takes form. Maybe it’s time to dust off my zills? Maybe I’ll add hip openers to my daily stretch: maya and taxim, and full body undulations.

And maybe... when you see me shimmy down the frozen aisle at Safeway, just mind your own business. I’m remembering myself. I’m remembering how to ride dragons.