I Want to See You Dance — Gina Puorro

Gina Puorro is one of the blogs that shows up in my inbox from time to time. There’s a rawness in her words that I appreciate. There’s a realness that I feel moved by. It’s not rawness and realness to entertain. No, I receive it as rawness and realness to awaken from so much contemporary noise. It’s rawness and realness to bring depth to human living.

In a recent post Gina Puorro fleshes out four paragraphs from these four sentences.

I want to see you dance.
I want to hear you sing.
I want to witness your grief.
I want to feel your love.

Here’s the example with, “I want to see you dance.”

I want to see you dance. Not the choreographed, lead and follow, booty shaking, I-know-this-is-what-you-like dance. Give me the the animal of your body, unhinged and clawing and flailing to the heartbeat of the earth until you summon the gods themselves to pour libations at your feet. The ecstatic unraveling that dismembers your shame, that wrings sweat and tears and regret from your skin and leaves you on your knees before the altar of your own body in exalted devotion.

I am one that reads such words as invitation. Invitation to feel. Invitation to notice. Invitation to walk with.

And because I’m also a facilitator, I have the kind of brain and heart that translates concept to a form for group connection and learning. I imagine questions like, Where do you see dancing like this needed among us? Where do you wish such dance like this for your self? What is the kind of seeing that we are to each other? What might become possible?

So, a bow of gratitude. For those with the courage and clarity to live realness / rawness, and to invite it into dancing together.

2 Replies to “I Want to See You Dance — Gina Puorro”

  1. So, so powerful.

    “ecstatic unraveling that … leaves you on your knees before the altar of your own body in exalted devotion.”

    I’m in.

    I’m currently working on “being real.” Showing up in my words so that others feel the congruence with what is happening within me. No hiding in the quiet safety of silence. No drawing back when I am confused, or afraid, or appalled.

    Somehow the Velveteen Rabbit comes to mind, too. Being real is not easy. Yet it “feels” like it ties into “living-as-beloved” for me.


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