| "Dancing is . . . no mere translation or abstraction from life; it is life itself." –Henry Ellis |
Next we consider the distinction we make between dancing and not dancing. You may begin to
acknowledge that you are a dancer, but it may be clear to you that some parts of your life are devoted to
dance practice, and other parts of your life are devoted to working, rearing children, maintaining your
home, paying bills, sitting in traffic, and so on. In fact, part of what you like about dance is that it takes you
away from these other things. While you dance, worries seem to fade. So you look forward to dance
practice and to nights spent at dance clubs. But these hours flow all too quickly. You get in your car,
return home, have a bite to eat, go to sleep. All the while the aura of dancing fades. The next day you go
back to the grind. For many, that grind does not exactly feel like dancing. So we have a distinction that is
easy to make.
Can we question it sincerely and pragmatically–not just ideally? In the movie The Tango Lesson there is a
scene in which Pablo Veron makes dinner for Sally Potter. As he makes the meal, he dances, keeping time
by drumming the dishes and pans, tapping his feet, clapping his hands. It is a beautiful display of rhythm,
timing, and grace. The whole thing is literally a dance. But it is also, just as literally, the preparation of a
meal. Every movement furthers his creation of their dinner. The distinction breaks down in an obvious
way. Such an obvious example should make us look more carefully at less obvious examples.
If we take up dancing with some passion, we begin to live as dancers, and we begin to approach every
activity as a dance, as rhythmic practice and rhythmic awareness. In The Way of Zen, Alan Watts tells us
about Dr. Kunihiko Hashida, a physicist and a very religious man. For Hashida, science was part and
parcel of practicing his faith. He did not restrict the practice of his faith to the stereotypical activities we
are used to (praying, meditating, going to religious services). Instead, the focus of his practice was not to
study science, but rather to science. Watts argues that someone like Hashida might say, while observing a
scientific instrument or even watching a tea kettle, “I’m sciencing.” In this response he would point
toward the quality of his mind and heart. He might say, “I do this with more piety than many people have
when they enter a church. Science is not my religion. It is the way I spend most of my time, and so I make
it a way to practice my religion.” The key for anyone wanting to follow his example lies in action. This
was not just some idea Hashida had, but a way of engaging Life–with an attitude of reverence. Nietzsche
tells us an astronomer can become a sage if he can stop seeing the stars as something above him. Hashida
seems to have succeeded in this.
Likewise, every dancer can become a sage if the dance is not just something she does on Friday nights. If
we know how to move on the dance floor, we know how to move in every activity of life. Life is dance;
Life dances. Everything we do requires rhythm and timing. If you can connect with your partner and
connect with the music, then you can connect with anyone at all in any situation.
Modern cognitive science helps us to understand this directly because of its fascinating discovery that
complex rational and creative thinking depends on the very same structures we use for movement and
perception. Human reason is embodied reason. And our exploration of this so far has suggested that if we
can enrich and refine our sensory and perceptual skills, we can enrich and refine our thinking. The
examples of this are powerful. Consider the genius of men like Archimedes, Da Vinci, Einstein,
Heisenberg, Feynman, and many others. These geniuses used physical ways of thinking, and they solved
many difficult theoretical problems while hiking, biking, and playing around. In this context of questioning
the dualistic assumptions that take hold of us when we dance, we can see that such distinctions really break
apart: Dancing or doing physics? Dancing or learning to think better? Dancing or helping my marriage?
Dancing or practicing my faith? Dancing or learning to understand and enjoy Life a little more deeply?
Once you begin to question the distinction between dancing and not-dancing, you begin to learn dance from
the best teacher any dancer can have: Life itself. Great dancing is an expression of someone’s experience
of Life, what they have learned, what they understand, what they still fail to understand. Dancing
expresses how we feel about being allowed to go on living, how we feel about the Earth, how we feel
about being able to enjoy music, how we feel about humanity and human existence. Life teaches you this,
and remarkably it also teaches you the technical principles of dance. All you have to do is pay attention.
Indeed, we make a mistake if we move into a situation in life as if it were NOT dancing. To negotiate a
business deal without dancing is to give up grace, poise, rhythm, timing, and connection. Ask for a
concession at one moment and you may get it, but ask for it two minutes before or two minutes later and
maybe you wouldn’t get it. And your ability to dance in the world of business or at home will affect the
quality of your movements when a tango plays in class or at a dance club.
When you walk to your car, or the mailbox, or the refrigerator, find out if you can sense your weight and
sense your breathing, and connect with the ground, with the space around you, and with your dance partner
(a door, a box, a head of lettuce). Find out if you can sense the hidden rhythms. Become attentive to all
the movements of your life and begin to ask, “How is that like leading? How is that like following?”
Notice the quality of your consciousness in everything you do. Notice the integrity of your whole body and
the operation of your Total Intelligence. Do you lock your knees when you open the mailbox? Do you lock
your knees all the time? While cutting vegetables, does your pelvis begin to move toward the counter in
such a way that your whole body is sightly arched and unintegrated? Do you raise your shoulders to do
things that actually can’t be accomplished by the shoulders?
Any time we observe closely, and listen, and become attentive, we are practicing dance. Washing dishes,
you can find your feet, you can sense your weight coming into the earth, you can let your hips and knees
become more fluid, you can let your neck be free so that your back can release unnecessary tension. You
move your arms, you feel the heat of the water, you hear the dishes clanging, you feel the curves of the
plates and bowls, you sense the hidden rhythms of things, and you breathe. This is some of the best dance
practice you can do. To learn tango is not to learn how to DO certain things. Tango teaches us a way of
being, and this way of being applies to every moment and every activity. By means of it you uncover the
hidden rhythms--and hidden meanings--that Life has to offer, and everything you do becomes a dance. This
gives additional significance to Ted Shawn’s assertion, “Dance is the only art in which we ourselves are
the stuff of which it is made.” We learn to live more beautifully when we reject the distinction between
dancing and not dancing. We live in a state of art, oriented toward beauty, and open to inspiration.
acknowledge that you are a dancer, but it may be clear to you that some parts of your life are devoted to
dance practice, and other parts of your life are devoted to working, rearing children, maintaining your
home, paying bills, sitting in traffic, and so on. In fact, part of what you like about dance is that it takes you
away from these other things. While you dance, worries seem to fade. So you look forward to dance
practice and to nights spent at dance clubs. But these hours flow all too quickly. You get in your car,
return home, have a bite to eat, go to sleep. All the while the aura of dancing fades. The next day you go
back to the grind. For many, that grind does not exactly feel like dancing. So we have a distinction that is
easy to make.
Can we question it sincerely and pragmatically–not just ideally? In the movie The Tango Lesson there is a
scene in which Pablo Veron makes dinner for Sally Potter. As he makes the meal, he dances, keeping time
by drumming the dishes and pans, tapping his feet, clapping his hands. It is a beautiful display of rhythm,
timing, and grace. The whole thing is literally a dance. But it is also, just as literally, the preparation of a
meal. Every movement furthers his creation of their dinner. The distinction breaks down in an obvious
way. Such an obvious example should make us look more carefully at less obvious examples.
If we take up dancing with some passion, we begin to live as dancers, and we begin to approach every
activity as a dance, as rhythmic practice and rhythmic awareness. In The Way of Zen, Alan Watts tells us
about Dr. Kunihiko Hashida, a physicist and a very religious man. For Hashida, science was part and
parcel of practicing his faith. He did not restrict the practice of his faith to the stereotypical activities we
are used to (praying, meditating, going to religious services). Instead, the focus of his practice was not to
study science, but rather to science. Watts argues that someone like Hashida might say, while observing a
scientific instrument or even watching a tea kettle, “I’m sciencing.” In this response he would point
toward the quality of his mind and heart. He might say, “I do this with more piety than many people have
when they enter a church. Science is not my religion. It is the way I spend most of my time, and so I make
it a way to practice my religion.” The key for anyone wanting to follow his example lies in action. This
was not just some idea Hashida had, but a way of engaging Life–with an attitude of reverence. Nietzsche
tells us an astronomer can become a sage if he can stop seeing the stars as something above him. Hashida
seems to have succeeded in this.
Likewise, every dancer can become a sage if the dance is not just something she does on Friday nights. If
we know how to move on the dance floor, we know how to move in every activity of life. Life is dance;
Life dances. Everything we do requires rhythm and timing. If you can connect with your partner and
connect with the music, then you can connect with anyone at all in any situation.
Modern cognitive science helps us to understand this directly because of its fascinating discovery that
complex rational and creative thinking depends on the very same structures we use for movement and
perception. Human reason is embodied reason. And our exploration of this so far has suggested that if we
can enrich and refine our sensory and perceptual skills, we can enrich and refine our thinking. The
examples of this are powerful. Consider the genius of men like Archimedes, Da Vinci, Einstein,
Heisenberg, Feynman, and many others. These geniuses used physical ways of thinking, and they solved
many difficult theoretical problems while hiking, biking, and playing around. In this context of questioning
the dualistic assumptions that take hold of us when we dance, we can see that such distinctions really break
apart: Dancing or doing physics? Dancing or learning to think better? Dancing or helping my marriage?
Dancing or practicing my faith? Dancing or learning to understand and enjoy Life a little more deeply?
Once you begin to question the distinction between dancing and not-dancing, you begin to learn dance from
the best teacher any dancer can have: Life itself. Great dancing is an expression of someone’s experience
of Life, what they have learned, what they understand, what they still fail to understand. Dancing
expresses how we feel about being allowed to go on living, how we feel about the Earth, how we feel
about being able to enjoy music, how we feel about humanity and human existence. Life teaches you this,
and remarkably it also teaches you the technical principles of dance. All you have to do is pay attention.
Indeed, we make a mistake if we move into a situation in life as if it were NOT dancing. To negotiate a
business deal without dancing is to give up grace, poise, rhythm, timing, and connection. Ask for a
concession at one moment and you may get it, but ask for it two minutes before or two minutes later and
maybe you wouldn’t get it. And your ability to dance in the world of business or at home will affect the
quality of your movements when a tango plays in class or at a dance club.
When you walk to your car, or the mailbox, or the refrigerator, find out if you can sense your weight and
sense your breathing, and connect with the ground, with the space around you, and with your dance partner
(a door, a box, a head of lettuce). Find out if you can sense the hidden rhythms. Become attentive to all
the movements of your life and begin to ask, “How is that like leading? How is that like following?”
Notice the quality of your consciousness in everything you do. Notice the integrity of your whole body and
the operation of your Total Intelligence. Do you lock your knees when you open the mailbox? Do you lock
your knees all the time? While cutting vegetables, does your pelvis begin to move toward the counter in
such a way that your whole body is sightly arched and unintegrated? Do you raise your shoulders to do
things that actually can’t be accomplished by the shoulders?
Any time we observe closely, and listen, and become attentive, we are practicing dance. Washing dishes,
you can find your feet, you can sense your weight coming into the earth, you can let your hips and knees
become more fluid, you can let your neck be free so that your back can release unnecessary tension. You
move your arms, you feel the heat of the water, you hear the dishes clanging, you feel the curves of the
plates and bowls, you sense the hidden rhythms of things, and you breathe. This is some of the best dance
practice you can do. To learn tango is not to learn how to DO certain things. Tango teaches us a way of
being, and this way of being applies to every moment and every activity. By means of it you uncover the
hidden rhythms--and hidden meanings--that Life has to offer, and everything you do becomes a dance. This
gives additional significance to Ted Shawn’s assertion, “Dance is the only art in which we ourselves are
the stuff of which it is made.” We learn to live more beautifully when we reject the distinction between
dancing and not dancing. We live in a state of art, oriented toward beauty, and open to inspiration.
| Beginner's Mind Tango |
| Dangerous Dualities: Dancing and Not Dancing |
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
| By Nickolas Knightly |
| Nickolas Knightly Alexander Technique, Argentine Tango, and Sutainability Resources Based in San Francisco, CA and serving the Bay Area and beyond. |