dancing at Amma's party

It's not every day you get to be in the same room as a saint. Whatever you think about saints - and of course, I heard more than one opinion on the subject this week. My understanding of that word is just a person who is given totally (and freely) to being a channel of Love in this world. I don't know that much about the life of Amma-ji, but she seems to fit that basic description from what I've heard.

Here's another thought about saints: they don't do what they do, or be what they be, out of response to any dominant paradigm. Or to any opinion of the masses. They do it because they want to. Because they need to. Because they BE that. So in that sense, the approval of others doesn't really have a lot to do with it. Giving us all a welcome break, should we choose to accept it, from our constant attachments, labels, and evaluations.

But of course, before I can connect with any freer thoughts like these, there's the everpresent subjectivity to tangle through. La danza Azteca was invited to participate in this gathering. And I was invited to dance with them. So, all the usual protests spring up: I'm not ready. I'm not confident. (I'm not worthy...) "How can I be a part of this?", I ask my companion. "Because you are part of the circle", he answers. Well, in that case. I need to welcome those words, "you are part of this" even more than I need to protect the fragile ego by staying on safe ground. I'm not ready to dance in front of large numbers of people, but. Here we go. Here we go.

The event is at the Mariott across town. The one shaped like a giant pyramid. As one of the guys in la danza points out, it's Indians dancing for Indians, in a pyramid. Wow. And other groups are there too. To bring their offering, not just for Amma-ji but for all those who have come in the name of a broader peace. This doesn't seem to be just her occasion, but sort of a party for human beings at large. Three women perform gorgeous, exuberant Haitian dances. About 40 kids of all ages do what has to be a Bollywood dance number. And there are Sufis here. I've never met any in person, only in so many books. The one who dances, spinning effortlessly for about 20 minutes, is also - suprise - one of our number, one of la danza. When it's over, he will introduce me to a woman in that group, who will offer me kind words and suggest an email conversation on the Sufi path. This will be the second best part of the night.

But the best part, of all things, is our dance. The allotted time shrinks, at the last minute, from 30 or 40 minutes to 20. Electrifying the moment - so brief a time to share this offering. We circle on the disturbingly-patterned hotel carpet, under the glare of flourescent lights and a too-high ceiling. There are maybe a hundred people in the room. There are at least a dozen dancers in the circle. El jefe is fierce, powerful on the drum at the center, immediately pounding out a tempo that can only be kept by those willing to offer every ounce of their energy to the dance. The drumbeats and the sound of the rattles fill the conference room with their echoes. The circle seems to be in harmony, even those of us who don't know all the steps. I feel alive, even in the flourescence, even in the crowd. We seem to be flying at times - even those of us who don't usually fly, unlike my companion, who always defies the laws of gravity when he dances. The applause, at the end, is a little dissonant - this is prayer, not 'performance' - but welcome at the same time, because it says that maybe the people here have felt this prayer in some way.

As soon as we finish, we're ushered to the front of the line for hugs from Amma. I wondered, but didn't really expect this. The experience is quick (a little rushed, predictably, by her hovering crowd of earnest assistants). It is neither positive nor negative: it's just a hug. I leave curious about one thing: why they asked me whether my primary language was English or Spanish, since Amma spoke only in her own language, as she leaned her face against mine. Actually, this was the one clear impression of the moment: that what she was speaking, a murmured and steady stream of words, were part of an ongoing, preexisting conversation. Not spoken to me at all - only that I happened to be listening in, for a moment. It was alright, just fine really, that I had no idea what the conversation was about. No need to. It's enough just to be in a room full of people who are open to having this greater conversation at all. And having it not just with the mind, but with what the body and the heart can offer as well.