It is an enormous pleasure to write a note of support for the [DOWH] Women's Freestyle Dance program you [Twyla] have been facilitating at the North York Women's Centre.

 

These gatherings have been an invaluable support this winter, for both me and my children. I benefit physically, emotionally and psychologically from the movement and the engagement these workshops provide. Among the many benefits of this program is the vital opportunity it provides to reclaim creative movement as an act of expression in a non-competitive atmosphere.

 

Six Labyrinth Dancers, by Catherine Raine

Posted February 4th, 2009 by Webmistress

Dance Our Way Home
High Park, August 2, 2008

By Catherine Raine

 

A tide of wind stirs the high leaves to music. Tall energetic grasses in a nearby grove caress a man’s bare chest. A family barbecues hamburgers under green shade just outside the labyrinth. And six women place their bare feet on the black asphalt circle, making their own patterns among the golden painted designs. As they start to move, violins dream a rhythm for twelve arms that reveal their expressive reach, receptive as river deltas, infinite as water.

Next comes a circle dance that invites star after star to shine in the middle. Dawn transforms a shared scarf into a pink sail, a flying taurus. When Alex veils herself, the pink cloth becomes an offering and a word. In Cathy’s hands, the scarf is a mystery-maker, a message from the unknown. And when Erica swoops with the scarf, she’s suddenly an airborne mermaid with roots for a tail. At the end of the dance, the scarf becomes a rippling pink altar in the middle.

Now more scarves arrive as the wind picks up pace. Bodies and cloth swirl faster, masses of hair flying, scarves billowing like shadows of sufis. The women release their sails into the breeze, and Leslie’s royal blue scarf lands on Erica’s head. She goes with it, dancing blind, dancing trance. These six dancers are living kites, flying their flags of purple, black, pink, green, and blue — celebrating the country of freedom, the land of embodied flight.

The last dance is “Follow Me.” Each person takes her place at the front in turn, offering a simple gesture for all to share. Angela is first, a Canadian Lakshmi who has ten extra arms flowing behind her. The six women transform into one goddess body that fills the labyrinth with light. Dawn executes a namaste dive; pressed hands plunge in holy surrender. Open and gracious, Leslie pulls both arms up and slowly releases them. And behind her, one set of arms after another open in a flowering cascade.

Cathy’s graceful arms wave from side to side, pushing aside gentle vines to clear the jungle for the sisters behind her. Now Alex holds an invisible globe in her arms, first plucking it from the earth and taking it to waist level and then to shoulder height. The women stepping behind the leader instinctively vary the level to which they rise, so that Alex is the lowest to Pacha Mama and the others gradually stand taller and taller. And now they are all in a line, curving their arms upward into a living chalice.

As the labyrinth dance comes to a close, the six stand in rich circle formation, eyes closed, hands clasped in namaste. Down they go on their behinds in the centre of the maze. They know exactly where they are without needing a map. Their toes touch and hands intertwine, soon flowing into a new pattern. They now sit with their backs to the centre, legs crossed, hands resting palms up on their warm knees. Finally, scarves go in the middle so that five heads can rest on the colourful heap. Erica rises and circles the resting dancers. Her right hand extends in blessing. And she thanks the goddesses.