“We kept on dancing last summer though the dancing had been called subversive.
We weren’t alone at the end of this particular world and knew
it wouldn’t be the last world, though wars
had broken out on all sides.”
Excerpts from the poem In Praise of Earth by Joy Harjo appear in quotations throughout this essay.
By the time Sunday rolls around in a farm week, it is necessary to abstain from the tasks of watering, weeding, harvesting and selling. My spirit needs attention and renewal. The farmer and writer Wendell Berry observed Sabbath by walking in the woods and writing poetry. These are activities that help restore the soul.
When I lived in Flagstaff, I went to Flagstaff Freemotion conscious dance, also affectionately called “Dance Church.” There are no moves to learn; it is a movement practice to shift awareness into your body. You are present and communing with others to a shared rhythm. It reminds me of yoga or sitting in a meditation hall, but instead of receiving direction everyone is present in their body moving in their own time.
The setting is a spacious room with a floor-to-ceiling window view of the San Francisco Peaks. A DJ holds space with a carefully procured playlist that begins slowly so everyone can warm up. The music builds and changes and you allow your body respond to it. I don’t necessarily consider myself a good dancer, so this practice is freeing because it isn’t about being good. You move the way that feels good in the moment. You can lay around on the floor stretching or jump up and down and spin, and no one judges you. You even forget to judge yourself after awhile. You don’t need a dance partner—you can go alone and dance with a whole room of people. If you feel compelled to move with another person you can, but there is no language needed. After the last song we form a circle and connect with a word of gratitude or an OM. We then share snacks like coffee hour at church, but instead of crumb cake people bring fresh blueberries, walnuts and a big pots of beans. This communal dancing moved emotions through my body and charged me with positive life ions. I felt present and renewed and reconnected to a beautiful universal source.
“We kept on dancing and with us were the insects who had gathered at the grounds
in the grasses and the trees. And with us were the stars and
a few lone planets who had been friends
with the earth for generations.”
During COVID, Flagstaff Freemotion was in uncertain hiatus, as was everything. We were in need of connection with earth and one another. It was our first season at Wild Heart Farm and I was lonely and overwhelmed. My friend Molly made a playlist for a late summer full moon night and we danced on the new rocks and dirt and pollinator terraces. We connected with the vibration of the music through our hearts and bodies and it flowed through our feet into the earth. We danced with the sunflowers, who towered over us. We danced with the grasshoppers, the bats, the trees and our ancestors in the summer night air that held us in a warm embrace.
“With us were the spirits who wished to honor this beloved earth in any beautiful
manner. And with us at dawn was the Sun who took the lead
and then we broke for camp, for stickball
and breakfast.”
Dancing with the farm felt good. Grounded in place, I found a deep mind-body-spirit connection with myself and with the land. It seemed that even the flowers grew more lavish and lovely. We needed a good grassy space to hold community dances, so we invited our friends to seed the dance floor.
The ground cover on the farm is Bermuda grass, an insidious spreading non-native that eventually knits itself into the gardens. After six months of smothering with a decommissioned billboard, we were ready to seed the dance floor with clover and yarrow.
On an early spring day our dance friends arrived with work gloves and we broadforked the hard ground, sorted out the rocks, and raked it smooth. We sprinkled the tiny seeds into a layer of compost and took off our shoes to help them make contact with their new earth home. Dogs darted in and out and kids climbed the compost pile in search of earthworms. Molly’s artful song mix welcomed the sun back to our faces, and the light back into our hearts. With our moving bodies we celebrated the awakening of the earth to her green, growing self. We too were waking up from a long winter of isolation and uncertainty. Planting the new seeds felt like an act of hope. We experienced joy and laughter and communion. Not just with each other, but with the seeds and soil and sunshine. Later my 82 year old neighbor mentioned how much she enjoyed sitting on her porch listening and catching glimpses of us through the fence slats.
“We are linked by leaf, fin, and root. When we climb through the sky to each
new day our thoughts are clouds shifting weather within us.
When we step out of our minds into ceremonial
language we are humbled and amazed,at the sacrifice. Those who forget become the people of stone who guard
the entrance to remembering. And the Earth keeps up her
dancing and she is neither perfect nor exactly in time.
She is one of us.”
With all the joyful feet and intention it didn’t take long for the clover and yarrow to grow a green dance floor that bees, dogs and humans alike can enjoy. It is a soft place to land on our farm, and many who lay in it have found four leaf clovers, a testament to the magic that is created when we share a collective intention. We now host seasonal conscious dance and plant gatherings where all beings benefit.
