Meditation

Joseph Campbell describes dance as a zen discipline, an art in which one has to have total concentration and yet have no-mind (no chattering, distracting thoughts). The act of dance shares many of the same characteristics of meditation. To explore this connection, I am comparing recent dance classes with Mark Epstein's book "Thoughts without a thinker."

In meditation, one wishes to achieve bare attention- an impartial, nonjudgemental perspective on the feelings and emotions that bubble into the mind. The meditator neither clings nor denies the emotions - they are allowed to arise, exist, and naturally fall away. The effects of the mind can be sublimated, transformed.

Transformed into what? I'm honestly not sure. For Shimazaki-sensei, feeling is transformed into movement. After all, "Feeling is Everywhere" is the quote printed on the dance majors' Team Shimazaki sweatshirts. When Shimazaki walked into class on Monday, he seemed more brusque than usual, as if some frustration floated in the back of his mind. No jokes, only a few short comments. It was like a summer day, hot and uncomfortable. We completed barre exercises, and then the center floor combination was completely different than the usual feeling. The movements were beautiful in a mournful way. The body whirled one way and then the other, and different shapes appear effortlessly with each turn. Our heads tumbled backwards and forwards with the movement, and our feet were sensual bodies, feeling our own legs and seeking new hiding spots. It was exhiliarating.

When it was time to set it to music, Shimazaki turned to the Hiraiyama, the pianist, and asked what he though the feeling of the music was. Shimazaki suggested that "Kizuitara" - before you know it - the leaves are falling from the trees and they start to dance like this. From this suggestion, Hiraiyama began playing. It was perfect.

Dance allows the dancers to pour out feeling, let it consume their whole body and move them like madmen. The feeling exists, has it's turn, and then the dance is over, and the dancer rests. The body is tired and awashed in feel-good chemicals, and the feeling has dissappeared along with the shapes the dancer imprinted in the air. Tranformation and dissipation- of the ego's feelings.

But ultimately in meditation, one wants to let go of ego. Feelings cannot be pushed away, but they are ultimately illusory bodies that contribute to strong senses of self and identity. In Butoh, there seems to be little room for personal, everyday feelings, as the dancer is connecting with forces greater than herself. For example, in time she will travel to the beginning of history through the matter in her body and throughout evolution with the memory of past movement patterns. While butoh dancing, one's roots reach deep within the earth, and one's shin, or consciousness, extends out and into the universe. In order to connect with these primal forces, one needs concentration and mindfulness, the two main components of meditation. Concentration is the ability to focus strictly onto one thing, and mindfulness then allows the meditator to be aware of what happens while she is in this focus.

At butoh class on Tuesday, the participants were Cara, Ima-san, and me. We were joyful, exploring the body and thinking about our connections to the universe. One exercise we do is to exhale and feel a big ball in front of our torso. Then our body shrinks and hardens into stone. A seed is in the stone, and a plant grows out of it. The plant is rooted in the earth, and we then must walk with this image. (Also, our veins are like roots, carrying nutrients and connecting the whole of our bodies). Ima-san says to walk like you have roots. The walk requires very slow half-steps, a careful and conscious move from one foot to the other. She described it as "Teinei," meaning polite, but also proper. This walking seems the same as the standard type of walking in butoh, called tsuruhashi walking. With legs slightly bent, it is a pattern of pick up foot slowly, move it slowly, place it in front of the other foot carefully. Repeat. The result is a seamless, intentful walk. Saturday, at Clear Sky Dharma Center in Kyoto, a teacher named Paul Jaffe demonstrated the meditative posture of walking. It was exactly the same method. "This will definitely make you a better butoh dancer," he told me.

On the other hand, Dance can be a method to achieve confluence in the realm of the gods, and to feel ones ego boundaries dissolving. It's a rapturous experience that can be addictive and possibly detour a would-be Buddha. With the proper understanding, dancing can open an entirely new world.