Pole Dance

I am an exquisite dancer, one of a few ever existed who can flap eyelashes in a flat butterflied pattern. I know how to use wind in my dance to avoid unnecessarily touching the ground and spoiling the music with the inevitable tramp. I know as well how to create the wind of my own by gently moving my toes and fingers–the breeze I would then use to stream random whispered words into the viewer’s ears. That is a fun way to turn the viewer from simply a viewer into also a listener. A viewstener, if you wish. My dance is so perfect that most of the time it comes unnoticed, making one feel that something light and natural has just happened and planting shades of my emotions into one’s heart. I can convince or dissuade people, change their mood or age, make them believe or hesitate, love or hate, smile or cry, just by projecting my graceful movements onto the ether that encapsulates their unique and yet so well comprehensible selves. Occasionally, some moving parts of my body–hands, feet, cheeks, lips–may become visible but hardly draw any attention. As it is only the dance that matters.

I am not the only dancer of this kind, there are others, about a dozen of them, and most likely, we all know each other in person. The same way as all wind blowers or sand millers know each other. I was introduced to some of the other superior dancers while taking ballet classes as a child. With some, I met at various competitions or gatherings. Some came to see me at a later time and on their own will. However, most of the time I try to stay away from their company, preferring to be on my own, to graciously dance to my own music, to unconsciously follow my own rhythm. I always avoided artistic unions, I was never sure what their purpose was, as I was never able to talk about art, even with those who may be competent. I cannot concentrate on anything but dance, and if you were able to speak to me, you would realize my absentmindedness in less than five minutes. This may sound as if I am taking myself too seriously–of course, I am–but that is not the only truth. The more salient fact is that I live a life of a cobra, and cobras are deadly dangerous. The last thing I want is to harm anyone close to me, I’d instead bite myself and die of despair.

My fascinating ability to look at my own dance from above cost me a great effort but pays for it. During such moments my legs grow as long as those of a giraffe. And while continuing my movements, I bend my neck down and look at my own body that keeps squirming and coiling below my eyes, no matter how painful this is for me. Dancers feel no pain. Pain comes to those who have stopped dancing. I straighten for a second and then crash myself down. I embrace the world and instantly throw it away. I put a smile on my face and lose my face a moment later. My shadow is the shadow of a cloud. My touch is a touch of a spider’s web on your face. My breath is wind in a tunnel. My heartbeat is a gurgle of boiling water. Have you ever felt cold droplets touching your skin on a dry, sunny day? Excuse me, but that was my sweat.

The time has come for what I love and what I do best–the pole dance. And now that I approach the pole, I have my mood tamed, I keep my body alive, I crack my spirit open. I’ll coil myself around the shaft–my hair, my limbs, my veins, my muscles, my little tentacles, my balanced emotions–and will become a graceful whirlwind. My nails will be drawing deep lines on the wood, my nostrils will be sucking the fog from the air, my skin will be polishing sky, my howl will be filling the space with some essence. From bottom to top, the pole is my only support; the land is forgotten, the wings are abandoned. I jump onto the elastic stick, get glued to it, ready to rule, to be ruled, to follow its swings.

Do you know what I think of when dancing around the pole? Nothing. Thoughts kill the dance, the dance is only supported by passion. Slow moves followed by fast movements, tender kisses followed by big hugs. Loud whispers and quiet screams, wet foreheads, moistened fingers, and soaked thighs. Before you know it, you will be dancing with me–wrapped, enveloped, spun, encircled, dissolved. Sincerely mine. The pole gives us incredible powers, our dance turns into what is called love, and we are candidly happy to be a small part of it! No need for preparation. Trust your instincts, and you will be flexible. Stay excited, and you will be light. And never, never stop moving…