NOW I’m in Heaven


Tangotourist in Berlin, Summer 2014

Broken bus, lost luggage, and M and I arrive Tango Loft in shorts and sandals, famished, at 0030. They give us tomato soup and Riesling. HJ is waiting patiently for us, and I collapse into a chair next to him and have a look at the dance flora. What balm for the eyes, beautiful A and  B smiling and flying.


The next hour makes my heart sing as I watch M and B, dance with all of them (even in sandals with these dancers I can trust). It was so indescribably beautiful and rich. With candles dripping, and smiles, and motion.


Silences in history. Silences by code. Silences of fear. You already know that Tango’s silences can be sublime and they can be devastating.

What I do in my blog is use myself as a lens – sometimes a microscope, sometimes a telescope. I try to be as honest with myself and you as words concede. Then I try to find a deeper meaning and imagine a pathway for us.

A blog post can be a fragment, a wisp of inspiration, an outline for thinking. A book must complete and reconcile it all. Now I drag the social scientist to the scene to enumerate the facts of the case, the mystery which brought both stardom and tragedy to my life.

I invite you to join my resolution to take a look at the dark silences of Argentine Tango in our lives. It’s time.


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