Athenian Dreams

    The veil has been my partner, opponent and inspiration since my first belly dance class with Lorraine Finneran at the Framingham YMCA in 1973. 

                                                                                            To me the veil represents the hidden and the revealed, bondage and freedom, the subduing of fear and the rewards of perseverance. The veil and I have danced deepest sorrows and greatest joys at weddings, showers and celebrations of life. The veil is water and air, as close to heaven as a human can fly.       

The ancient and modern cultural mosaic we call "belly dance" consists of music and dance from and inspired by the cradle of civilization. 

The sacred roots of this dance go back to the Paleolithic times.  Priestesses played frame drums and humans learned to the power of dance from the bees in celebration of the Great Mother. This dance continues to grow among devotees, nourished and shared around the world bringing us together to reach for the divine.  

 

Jacob's Pillow 2004

Ancient Egyptian Goddess of writing Seshat

  Muslim women veil themselves for modesty by choice or coercion. The veil as dance prop was introduced in the West through multiple sources as diverse as the story of The Seven Veils of Salome, by dance pioneer Isadora Duncan and the extravagance of Hollywood's glory days.

  Read more about the veil at Shira' http://www.shira.net/sevenveils.htm

When a parachute fails to open, the results are tragic. When the veil fails to open, only pride gets hurt. I have dropped my veil, stepped on my veil, pretended I meant for it to land on my head. It has gotten caught in my hair ornaments, the hoop of an earring, on sequins and beads in my costume. My veil is a trickster. No matter how deeply I tuck it into the straps and bands, it's guaranteed to come untucked, slip off my shoulder and down my hip, as though an invisible pixie comes and yanks it out, not satisfied until it is between my legs and wrapped around my ankles.

I met Joanne, Deb, Wanda and Faith in 2002 backstage performing in Keene New Hampshire. I danced to Raks Abdo, the song I danced to in my high school variety show. I danced with a veil and zills in my brand new first professional costume. The veil, folded in half widthwise, failed to open when I removed it for the taxqsim.  I smiled my best smile while trying to open it while I spun, gave up and danced with half a veil until finally tossing it over my head, free from its subversive powers. The following Thursday night I was surprised to get a phone call from Faith asking if wanted to audition for the Crescent Dancers.  I nearly jumped out of my skin at such an honor and tried to turn it down saying I was too busy.  Frank encouraged me, knowing how much I would love being a professional dancer. Real life exceeded my dreams when I passed the audition, signed the contract and joined the troupe.  When I felt comfortable enough to express surprise that I was asked after my Keene veil disaster, I was told it wasn't as much the way I danced with the veil but the way I recovered from it. 

   

Last Thursday I danced to the Mike Gregian band at the Athenian Corner in Lowell. I wish my mom and dad were alive to see it. Before they had children, they liked to go to Greek or Middle Eastern restaurants to eat and watch bellydancers. My mom and dad introduced me to, and supported my belly dancing. 

    Before the show, Frank and I shared a Mezze plate of stuffed grape leaves, hummus, feta and kalamata olives. John and Wendy, our friends who live in Lowell walked over from their studio and joined us. They were curious about belly dancing and asked some of the usual questions. "What do you feed your snake?, "Where do you get your costumes?", "Where do the dances come from?" I thought I was relaxed enough to be hungry but the flaky spanikopita went down my throat like buckshot. John asked "Do you ever daydream when you are dancing onstage?"  While I finished chewing and considered the question he continued "I wonder sometimes if the actor in a play for the hundredth night thinks about the dirty dishes in the sink and whether to stop for dog food on the way home."

 

  

    I told him I try to surrender to the music, bypassing the brain and flowing as my body has trained for almost half a century and at the same time I have to be vigilant for costume malfunctions, technical challenges, a low ceiling fan or lights for the veil to get tangled. It is the dancer's job to make sure the audience is engaged and having fun while thinking "are my finger cymbals keeping time, is one going to slip off and become a zill rocket? ...What's that I feel in the back..is that supposed to be there? ..Is something showing that shouldn't be?"

   

Photo by Wendy James

  When I dance freestyle I have noticed that if I make a mistake, if I stumble coming out of a turn, miss the accent or lose the beat of the music, a good move like a spinning head flip or a kick lift veil toss will follow of its own accord. I don't have control, it just happens.  It's like my conscious thought has been overridden by instinct to do better.   

For a second I forgot to be nervous. Mike's languid saxophone playing Bir Demet took me over, emptied my brain of the worries of this world. There was nothing but the floating feeling of being propelled by magic. I wasn’t thinking what to do.  As I was freeflowing joyfully, my veil tangled itself around and into the elastics on my finger cymbals. I did not panic. This time I was master of my veil and it was going to do my bidding. Like Ron Berger, the quietly commanding sixth grade teacher who stands patiently before the class, I thought  "I will wait for you to be ready to cooperate." I kept my hips moving and my arms undulating while I turned my back to the audience and used my other hand to unwrap that sucker. When freed, my fingers started zilling triplets "da da da ..da da da...da da da" 

  

People find it hard to believe that I am an both an introvert and a belly dancer. I didn't start performing because I love the attention. I overcame stage fright after twenty years of performing because that's how fiercely I love to dance.