tonight

my belly dancing teacher says i'm very focused when i'm working. she said,

"whoa, you're like this magnet behind me, your eyes!" and i'm so honored because it's my second class, on my first class she said, "wow, you're really good, you're picking it all up. we're doing hard moves." but it made perfect sense to me and my body was so happy and my eyes are daggering at the mirror--how could they stop stinging? They were talking to my body, and they could once be as definitive as my body was returning to my primal nature. nd everything takes off and i got to be this tiger. Everything is circles in belly dancing. The hips lifting, then packing down, figure 8s. pushing one part of body this way, other part that way. and my body likes it and knows it. i feel like i'm stamping myself, like i'm fully allowed to be in my body and confirming myself.
what a place it's a place where the women soar, where the women's gifts, our gold, can come pouring out, and it really intimidates men, a good bellydancer, i've seen them in restaurants, and men don't know quite what to do.
yes but it's these calming and intricate, slow and subtle or beating moves that only a woman can do and its incredibly mystifying--these big swipes with our hips. how severe. what a deadly power what a complete power that we women have to have these rounds to our body that can utter such undulations, how we can reach with our suppleness. what a place, a form of dance, where we can retain, retain our power, where though they may watch, they cannot even touch the essence, cannot take us like objects in their voyeristic vandilism. This belly dancing how stinging and raw, and elegant and untouchable. how breathtaking in my body that my arms and legs and belly and back knew (in dim ways) the motions: the places to press, to wave, to dig.