Square Dancing

IMG_2322So, I went square dancing, well… kinda of. Let’s just say, I tried but failed flat. I looked more like a fish out of the water then a dancer. Like oil and water. Like a nurse trying to write a software code. I fell flat on my stomach, figuratively.

I tried to follow the instructor’s direction but my feet weren’t having it. They seemed to have a mind of their own with their wires crossed somehow, going north when they should have gone south.

IMG_2342I kept trying to position them as much as I could, tiptoeing them around it to no avail. They weren’t speaking to me and I wasn’t going to argue with them either. Tried too hard and they had it with me.

I should have known better. To paraphrase it, I got bamboozled and the joke was on me for trying.

They were through being humiliated but took to the floor anyway. All I heard was, move this one first, then move that, twist to the left, twist to the right, jump, jump… stay close to your partner, follow his instructions…. huh, huh… wait, stop. @&%$… So many lingoes, so many words, so many movements that I was getting dizzy. Pairs, squares, line dancing… I didn’t dare utter a word as I was trying to escape my inner inability to talk to my feet and failed miserably. So, I gasped, resorting to an embarrassed nervous laugh that was more save face then anything else.
IMG_2328C’mon, they even have their own special attire, do they really thing I was going to get it? You got to dress the part if you want to fit in and the most interesting part of it all, I didn’t even come close. I was dressed as if I were going to the office and not square dancing. So, I retreated and defeated, I let the pros do their thing and resorted to do what I do best, take pictures.

I consider myself a pretty good dancer. There isn’t a dance I can’t master. My kind of good time at a party does not include any alcohol or anything of the kind. It just includes dancing.

I am known to go to a party to have a good time and my kind of good time implies drinking just enough coke, trust me I don’t make a habit of it, I don’t do sodas, to keep me going. All I am looking for is the caffeine in it to stay up long enough to enjoy the festivities and dance. When I say coke, I say coffee, red bull, tea…

IMG_2345Dance is in my blood. I breathe dancing. I inhale dancing. It is like a drug without the actual drug. It is like an addiction without the pill. It is like the booze without the alcohol.

I dance to live. I dance for pleasure. I dance because it feels great, not to say, lose some pounds. I dance because it is the only thing close to heaven.

I have the dance away conquering the usual suspects, pop dance, hip hop, merengue, salsa, why not try the non-conventional’s then, the likes of jazz, tap dance, square dancing?! So, when my friends said, Jared, mind you he lives and dies Square Dancing, is going to his dance thing, Dance Revolution, this weekend, would like to come? I immediately replied a resound, yes I am in.
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He Responded: ” Nothing”

20131218_193052A very interesting debate that could have perhaps, gone to where no man has been before, temporarily ignited on Facebook based on a friend’s post. Lucky me, she is a friend, seriously a friend, a fact I can’t assert about forty five percent of those who I call “friend” but I digress. Welcome to social media!

“Best answer ever! Oprah asked Don Miguel Ruiz (Author of The Four Agreements): “What happens when we die? He responded: ” Nothing”.

I found the statement kinda lame, and as far as I know, if you post something you should expect a comment. This is how it works on Facebook or I am wrong? So, I made a comment that resulted in the following exchange:

Me – How can he know? Has he died and came back to talk about it?
Friend – That’s his answer, accept it or don’t… but that’s his answer.

Well that was a zing! That was a little too forceful for my taste. Perhaps, I should have been clear and stated something to the fact, came back to tell all about it or came back and wrote a book, maybe, just maybe, she would have understood it better?! Fat chance!

Me – I am neither accepting or disagreeing, I was just stating that one can never know that because no one has come back to talk about it.

Mindful of her sturdy mannerless response, she quickly replied with, “anyways, no one can claim to know what happens when we die. Not a single person on this earth. There are hundreds of theories, to calm down our fears, but I just found his answer to be the boldest one, specially coming from a spiritual healer.”

Hum, ok, thank you for the correction. I am forever grateful. Spiritual healer or not, I didn’t find it bold. I found it tad irresponsible specially when he hasn’t been “there”, so it does not make him an expert. Perhaps, “I don’t know” should have been a more appropriate answer considering that dying is a secret club with very specific members.

There are no testimonies, proofs or palpable evidence to descend to, perhaps a psychic, TLC’s Long Island Medium type, would be so kind to give us the intimate details then again, she would have to be telling us the truth before she is paid.

Surely, no one can claim that he or she knows what happens after death. No one. It is a mystery, only for a selective few who have beat the odds, the “lucky” ones who have died, well kind of, temporarily, and came alive to tell all about it. The one’s who have seen the light, the comatose patients who almost expired but for an unexplained reason or another, unbeknownst to them and anyone else, got a reprieve, a second chance to enjoy earthly life once again.

The selective few gives a glance of what it is like beyond life. The “roads” they travel. Their surroundings. Their feelings. Friends and Family they visit with. What they see at the end of that road, that rattles them enough to make a U turn. The beauty of it and the one thing we can attest to is that most, based on their narratives, emerge transformed, a different being, with a different life’s perspective and a chance for a do over.

Others are chance encounters with what they describe as angels they meet at the check point, an invisible line they are not allowed to cross, a point of return, a guard stopping them at the boarder.

They are handed a special meal, an enormous responsibility and it feels special, and yet uncomfortable. No one knows but the fact of the matter is that according to them, they died and came back, as crazy as it may sound, to tell us all about it.

One cannot say for sure that dying is like a bus ride to Disneyland or a pitstop at McDonald but the select few contend that it is one awesome paradise. Peaceful, quiet and… heaven. Based on these premisses alone, something does happen after one dies but it isn’t Nothing!