Remember My Love for Dance

The other night a friend of mine asked me for tips on how to go about rewriting things.

I was honored that he even asked me. So, you know, I gave my advice, which wasn't a whole lot, but enough to get him started; although it was difficult to come up with advice because I'd never thought about how I rewrite- I just rewrite. Then I read his work which he graciously passed onto me. I'd read the first half, which I thoroughly enjoyed, so I was excited to read the second half. After reading it, I came up with much more advice and encouragement.

At first I simply hoped I was giving encouraging advice; he confirmed this hope by gladly and appreciatively accepting them. Yay. I can officially give good writing advice.




I took my third belly dance class tonight. I enjoy it a lot. More than I thought I would, but every time before class: I can't tell you how much I try to convince myself not to take the class; just to focus on something else. But then I take the class, anyway, because I'm like, "What the hell! It's free for me anyway, and besides, I don't want to disappoint the teacher."

During these classes, I am constantly told to "Smile!" or "Stop thinking!"

Smiling is not foreign to me. Hardly. I smile all the time.

No, not thinking is foreign to me. I don't know how not to think. In fact, when I'm told "Stop thinking!" I immediately consider, "What exactly does not thinking entail? Wait, I have to keep my pelvis in neutral position. Oh, -swear words- I'm thinking! I have to stop thinking."

I cannot stop thinking. Especially tonight when we had to freestyle.

BAH!

When I was younger I used to dance all the time. All. The. Time. To put it in perspective: I danced then as much as I think now. Dancing was my form of release- I switched it out for writing in middle school after moving to a new school. I used to love dance. I used to freestyle all the time. I don't know if I was very good at it, but my younger self didn't care.

I informed my teacher of this, and she responded: "Well, you just have to remember your love for dance!"

Too true.

Now, I don't exactly expect to be Shakira if I ever get better at this belly dance-thing, but dancing is my instructor's form of release, as much as writing is my form of release. The way she doesn't think about dancing is the very same I don't think about writing--she just dances; I just write.

So, how do I regain, or at this point, transfer my "Stop thinking!" habits of writing to dance?

Well, for one thing, I ought to be less self-conscious. How many times have you heard that, right? But honestly, of all the worries that my appearance causes me, no one else thinks a quarter of those worries: I freak myself, and no one cares, and rightly so! They either respect me enough, or ignore me enough to think I look all right.

"Oh! I'll look like a fool."

"Shut up, Justine. Kick of your Sunday shoes and go wild."

I mean, I am the person that randomly breaks out into the Macarena on a busy street in Manhattan. I already don't care when dancing the Macarena (although, that also requires absolutely no skill, only a good, steady memory of 90's music), so I need to apply that attitude to the dance studio class. Somehow.

On the surface, writing and dancing don't really have anything in common. But if I enjoy exercising my brain, ought I not also enjoy exercising my body?

And for the record, not thinking in dance class is just another way of saying, "Hey! Be who you are. Stop freaking out that you're doing it wrong, besides you're supposed to make mistakes anyway. We'll help you along."




And, if I can remember my love for dance, I'll be able to better empathize with potential students who are, or want to be, dancers. Win-win!

Seeking after...what?

I don't know if it's just me, but I'm not very good at finding solace where I should find it. That's probably my fault. This is probably a learning/growing point for me--one day I will be able to find solace where I should find it.

...you're probably wondering what 'it' is.

Many of you know, and more of you don't know, that I'm reading the Bible in the year. I've got the handy dandy calendar thingy to help me keep track of what I read day-by-day. In fact, in the blog that I accidentally deleted I used that blog to, well, blog about my daily findings from my reading. Doing that became overwhelming and repetitive. I can only say so much about a few chapters without sounding rehearsed or cliched, so then I wrote on a weekly basis. Then I accidentally deleted that blog this this one is born.

From January to September, what have I learned, so far, in my daily Bible reading? For one: I should not have come upon this read-the-Bible-in-one-year so unthinkingly, or without preparing myself for the histories I would eventually question.

Yes, that's exactly what 'it' is: the Bible. I'm going through Proverbs and Isaiah now (or I was going through it a week ago- I haven't been able to locate my copy of the Bible since last Wednesday) and I cannot tell you how much I dislike Proverbs and Isaiah because I have none of the context! Is that my fault, that I am unaware of the context of Proverbs and Isaiah? I mean, I attended Bible college, for Godsake! How could I not know the context of these books? I know, at this point I am living hand to mouth both physically and spiritually...especially spiritually.

I don't mean to say that I only read when the text means something to me, otherwise, why would I ever read?

Am I the only one who feels this way? That there have been too many verses pulled out of context just 'to comfort' someone 'in pain' or 'in need'?

Bible verses aren't pills to pop. They're not greeting cards to give away.

Someone tell me that they've also thought that the Proverbs are just idioms mushed together. None of the 'chapters' feel like poems, like the Psalms. Proverbs- oh, why did Solomon write Proverbs? I should probably study up on that, huh?





I sincerely apologize for expressing these thoughts. I'm pretty sure I'm a stumbling block to many people.

But take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone sees you who have knowledge eating in an idol's temple, will he not be encouraged, if his conscience is weak, to eat food offered to idols? And so by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food makes your brothers stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble. (1 Corinthians 8.9-13)

Or am I the weak one? Besides, all my actions should speak love (Matthew 22.36-40)! I'm feeling pretty weak. I find solace in Reza Aslan, Greg Mortenson, Neil Gaiman, Charlotte Bronte, but I can't find solace in God's Word?

Well, maybe not the solace I think I need. 'I think I need' is about as bad as 'I want', you know. What kind of solace do I really need to find in God's Word? Am I seeking justification? Am I seeking relationships? Am I seeking  good stories? I'm not even sure what kind of questions I'm really asking! Sheesh.

But I can express that most of my frustration is that God can be so good and so wonderful in spite of my foolish wanderings-around. Why can't I find solace in God's Word? Is that not the least I can do for a god so great?

To reread, or not to reread? That's hardly a question! Reread!

So, yesterday was a pretty full day for me. Not because I was running all over the place trying to accomplish fifty different things simultaneously, I just had no time to myself. I haven't had an entire day to myself for a while now. I miss those lonesome hours. Regardless, my full day yesterday, I had a few great conversations, all which challenged me, forcing me to reconsider some of my beliefs, my standards and morals. (Now, don't mistake me. 'Reconsider' does not mean 'completely dismiss'. Thanks.)

The conversations I had yesterday reminded me of many of the books I've read, some of which I couldn't quote perfectly. I couldn't even remember the names of the characters I was trying to describe. This bothered me greatly: if I can't remember names of characters, or the exact words of the quotation I might as well just pull the words out of my butt! I might be using these examples out of context, and I hate doing that. I hate manipulating words to me what I want them to mean. I can't just throw away the author's/writer's intent--I'd be a traitor. Every author/writer entrusts his readers to take into account his intent (except, maybe, for deconstructionists). Who am I to impose my thought?

side note: I am not suggesting that I couldn't 'correct' someone's thinking--were I able to do that in the first place--but I like to think I allow the author/writer to think his own thoughts. Only when I understood the author/writer would I feel able, or ready, to offer a rebuttal, or reinforcement.

So!- because of this, I really ought to reread the book's that've, so far, influenced my thinking. I ought to read the books that influenced those books. I really need to read more. I really need to reread. I need to memorize.

Oh, geez. I have to memorize now.

Excuse me while I pull out my index cards.

Every day! All day?

About a month ago I told someone that I wasn't particularly fond of doing things daily. I'd somehow believed that doing things daily cheapens the thing done daily, the act done daily, but now, a month later, I regret saying that; I don't believe that at all. I don't think I even believed what I'd said when I'd said it! I just said it, hoping not to sound like some ritualistic lunatic. But when did one become a lunatic for rituals? Don't we all, in some sense, have rituals, daily or weekly or monthly or yearly? 

So then, why the rituals?

I don't know why anyone else does rituals, not really at least, but I've taken to rituals because they give me a sense of order amidst all the chaos. Haha, not that my life is very chaotic; things are fairly controlled [: my life isn't going down the toilet anytime soon, but I am aware that other lives are, frankly, going down the toilet. That other lives are chaotic, or misdirected or undirected, either by their own hands or someone else's; my life is nothing like that. 

I have a good life. 

I have no complaints. 

But I think my daily rituals, this sense of order amidst chaos, reminds me to be thankful that I have a good life  without complaints. 

I know that sympathy without action is pity (I don't know that action without sympathy is cold-heartedness), but what's this have to do with my simple, daily rituals? 

Whatever life may have for me or for others, chaotic or controlled, misery or happiness, we are all subject to chaos/control, misery/happiness in varying degrees: one's pain is no less than another's pain. Pain is pain is pain. One's happiness is no more than another's happiness. Happiness is happiness is happiness. 

You're probably wondering what my daily ritual is that suddenly helps me understand another's pain or happiness.

Hmm, I'm reading my Bible every day, relating to its characters whose troubles I hope never to endure, and whose pleasures make me green with envy. 

Reading my Bible daily puts me on edge. Going through the Psalms, the Pentateuch (the five five books of the Old Testament) and the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) put me on edge. Some days I feel so grateful for my life, and other days I wish I were born in another era because in spite of my good life without complaints I find that I am discontent. I am barely brave enough to tell someone I read the Bible every day without being ridiculed. Really? That person's opinion of me will only rock my world if she judges me for reading the Bible daily? And why do I even think she'll judge me?! 

This edge reminds me that I have no idea what's really going on. Whatever sympathy I have is kept in check by fear: what if my acts of blind faith produce negative consequences? What if my acts of thought-out faith produce negative consequences? What if I'm perceived as an arrogant fool? What if-? 

I'm afraid to let my daily habit of reading the Bible affect the rest of my day. 

It's like... When I read my Bible I sneak into a corner where I hide and feel safe. I stay in the corner for as long as I read my Bible and then leave that Bible in the corner when I'm done to go about the rest of my day. Aren't daily rituals, rituals in general, supposed to have a permanent, persuasive, indelible affect on my person? Isn't that why I practice daily rituals?

Isn't that why people exercise daily? So that they go from hiding their troubled spots to showing off their muscles? 

Aren't rituals supposed to be obvious progress?

Yes! Yes! I know! I denied that I enjoyed doing things daily because I was afraid of someone's opinion of me! I know that rituals put my life into perspective: I am taught what it means to be thankful for nothing and wary of Trojan horses. Yes, I read my Bible every day, but I only let it affect me during that hour or so. I hardly let that Bible reading, that perspective, affect the other twenty three hours of my day.

And that is incredibly unfortunate. 

Even outside of religion, it is always incredibly unfortunate when he is ashamed of what has given him everything so that he wants no more. Did not even Socrates' followers openly mourn his death sentence? 

I ashamedly mourn my Savior's death and he resurrected! Christ is not even dead anymore! 

Yet, I keep these things secret. 

What good are rituals if I don't let affect me? 

Psalm 51,17, "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;

a broken spirit and a contrite heart, O God,

you will not despise."

Very few of us have any understanding of the reason why Jesus Christ died. If sympathy is all that human beings need, then the Cross of Christ is an absurdity and there is absolutely no need for it. What the world needs is not “a little bit of love,” but major surgery.

When you find yourself face to face with a person who is spiritually lost, remind yourself of Jesus Christ on the cross. If that person can get to God in any other way, then the Cross of Christ is unnecessary. If you think you are helping lost people with your sympathy and understanding, you are a traitor to Jesus Christ. You must have a right-standing relationship with Him yourself, and pour your life out in helping others in His way— not in a human way that ignores God. The theme of the world’s religion today is to serve in a pleasant, non-confrontational manner.

But our only priority must be to present Jesus Christ crucified— to lift Him up all the time (see 1 Corinthians 2:2). Every belief that is not firmly rooted in the Cross of Christ will lead people astray. If the worker himself believes in Jesus Christ and is trusting in the reality of redemption, his words will be compelling to others. What is extremely important is for the worker’s simple relationship with Jesus Christ to be strong and growing. His usefulness to God depends on that, and that alone.

The calling of a New Testament worker is to expose sin and to reveal Jesus Christ as Savior. Consequently, he cannot always be charming and friendly, but must be willing to be stern to accomplish major surgery. We are sent by God to lift up Jesus Christ, not to give wonderfully beautiful speeches. We must be willing to examine others as deeply as God has examined us. We must also be sharply intent on sensing those Scripture passages that will drive the truth home, and then not be afraid to apply them. -Oswald Chamber's My Utmost For His Highest (December 20th)

If this is my year to be brave, I really need to stop being so afraid of people who might judge me. What a silly fear.

Okay. Moving on.

"So, Justine, how do you feel about doing things daily?"

"Oh! I'm glad you asked because, actually, I-."

Speaking of which, there is a man, Cesar Kuriyama, who records one second of every day of his life. Maybe I should do that too: a great reminder that every day is incredibly important.