NOW I’m in Heaven

postitleswirl

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.

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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.

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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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