dreams of self-immolation

The night before last I dreamed that I was intending to throw myself into a fire and be burnt into ashes.  Then my mother was going to come by in a month and put me back together and I would be alive again.  This was some ritual in our culture that I discovered I knew all about, even though I hadn't known anything about it before.  I went to the place where the fire was and watched the flames leaping in an iron brazier.  They were hungry and I could hear them crackle, feel the heat, and I began to be afraid.  The man who was in charge of the fire told me that they would give me a drug and I wouldn't feel a thing, but I was skeptical, because if he hadn't done it before, then how would he know that it didn't hurt?  (my brain at this point gave me the information that this was something that only women did.)  Perhaps you just lay there unable to move or cry out as the flames engulfed you.  Perhaps it hurt tremendously.  And I began to doubt what I was doing.  If my mother was just going to bring me back to life later, then what was the point of going through the ritual at all?  The fire seemed hungrier and it seemed like it wanted to hurt me.  But it was important that I do this ritual, and I felt anguished over my doubt.

I woke up sweating under too many covers and crying slightly.

Sunday's tsunami benefit

Sunday's tsunami benefit show was very, very interesting.  The show was a pretty diverse array of belly dance styles, but tribal fusion definitely predominated, something very unusual for the Boston area.  I saw many beautiful things, a few WTF things, a few "that's really cool but it's not belly dance" things.  It gave me a lot of food for thought as I develop my own gothic fusion style.  I've been drawn to tribal fusion in many respects, due in no small degree to the costuming and club-influenced dancing (in fact, one dancer reminded M and me very strongly of photiq), but it's clearer for me now that tribal fusion is not exactly the style I want to pursue, though I do admire it and will probably borrow from it.  At the very least, I enjoyed the theatrical spirit of innovation that went along with it.  One woman danced  in a lovely red silk top with long sleeves that unfurled around her as she danced--just like in House of the Flying Daggers, only without hitting any drums.  Another woman's dance seemed to represent an old woman fighting against the dying of the light.  Sharon Kihara's music included something by Squarepusher.  The fusion dancers also showed a fairly high level of technical skill throughout, which can really make or break a theatrical performance.  Overall, the show was inspiring to me, but not to become like them--rather, to become more like me.  I do hope that the event planner, Freyja, stays in the Boston area and puts on more shows, because I would be able to do gothic stuff for her and her audiences without feeling like I had to justify myself.  I should eventually have a DVD of the evening, which I'd be happy to share with interested parties.*

Woke up Monday morning discombobulated by incendiary dreams and still aching from Saturday.  Somehow I dredged up the energy to really throw myself into a two hour class on drum solos--at the very end I totally let loose.  Dancing and working up a good sweat probably helped loosen up the sore muscles.  I can tell that Saturday's work on locks has stayed with me, which is very good.   I'm not sure if I'll have class tonight or not, due to expected white-out conditions and supercold temperatures.  Just this morning it felt like winter might be done, but apparently not.  This would be the lion part of March then.

Speaking of wild animals, this is such a cool craft project.  Later in the thread the creator gave a link to the taxidermy supply place she ordered from--I could make all kinds of crazy things from what they sell!  I'm thinking maybe a purple mountain lion rug...


*I am planning at some point to have a belly dance video/dvd viewing party--probably in April or May.  Details will be posted here.

(no subject)

It just took me two hours to get home from BU.  I left there at 6:30 and, fully intending to go to dance class tonight, stopped by Filene's Basement for about 20 minutes to pick up another shirt to add to my layers (all I had on was a rayon sweater and a half-halter top) (well, and pants, too), then went to wait... and wait... and wait for the Red Line which was "experiencing significant delays."  I arrived in Harvard Square 20 minutes after the bus I needed to catch had left, and at that point decided to keep heading for home.  It took the bus about 45 minutes to do what is usually a 20 minute drive.

And then I stepped out into the blizzard.  Did I mention the part about my not having a hat or earmuffs, or since I didn't make it to dance class I hadn't actually added that other layer of clothing?  Walking into the wind on Mass Ave I had to close my eyes and trust that I was capable of walking in a straight line down the sidewalk while being buffeted by the wind and icy snow.  I am lucky I still have eyebrows, my face felt so scoured.

I am made anxious by the fact that M and his car are not here.  I really wish he were not out driving in this :-(