Sorry, you talking to me?

Out African dancing last night with Angelina. Her class is low on numbers and somebody’s got to do it, and I need constant reminding I am a body not just a travelling mind. She demonstrates a hip movement. She has my attention. I do hip movement. She demonstrates the foot movements. I copy. And now the two together. I become aware of a new sort of internal dialogue. Brain, “OK hips, go. To the left, to the back, to the right…” - Legs, ”Come on we’re waiting.” - Brain, “I’m just doing the hips.” - Legs, “If we don’t start soon well be too late.” - Brain, “Look I, oh alright then, left foot forward.” - Legs, “too late, try later.” - Hips, “Where’ve you gone? Don’t bother with the legs we’re the most important.” - Brain, “What, oh, right, to the front, right foot back.” - Hips, “We can’t do right foot back, we’re hips.” - Brain, “No legs.” - Legs, “Sorry were you talking to us?” And so on. Angelina, “And now the arms.” – Brain,”Nooooo!!!” It’s these situations that make me realise how distant my brain and body are, hardly on speaking terms, where Angelina’s are lovers laughing in coupling unison. I refocus on Angelina’s bottom for tips. Angelina is Portuguese but the colour of Africa, full of clear infectious energy undaunted by just two in her class tonight. It’s this I want some of as much as the dance moves. Even when I’m playing in front of an audience I almost deliberately refuse to have a commanding presence. I’m just there to listen to if you’re interested. It’s my defence. I can’t take the risk. This supposed virtue of considerate modesty is just protection against me falling flat on my face. I find it’s always worth looking at one’s virtues in these terms; what fear are they covering? Anyway once my body learns the moves my brain will just sit back with a smile and say “Look at me, I’m dancing”, and my body will reply, “Sorry, were you talking to me? I’m too busy enjoying myself.”