Hello, Shalom, Marhaba from Zimrah, an aspiring dancer

Hi, I'm using the name Zimrah for this blog. I'm a sucker for any activity that involves fancy outfits and a cheesy fake name. My bellydance name is Zimrah.

It's etymologically related to the word Zamir, which could mean song, could mean gift, could mean flowering. (If I ever find that link again, I'll post it.) I chose a variant which is related but still unique. I can relate to songs, gifts, and the flowering of the earth.

 "Flowers appear on the earth;
    the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
    is heard in our land." That's from Song of Solomon 2:12.

My name Zimrah reminds me of the flowers, the cooing, and the lovers. This is a sexy bit of Bible and I am a sexy bit of worshipper. Or at least I will be, or at least I once was. The sexiness is a gift and as a beautiful part of creation it's just as appropriate to celebrate as flowers and birdsong.

So that's the theory. That's the easy part. Practice is hard. This blog is to record my practice as a dancer and map out where it takes me. My prediction, based on the above theory, is that it will take me straight back to the manger, with the Kings of other lands and other religions, and if the archetype of Ishtar rides my bones and belly back to the Baby then that's a GOOD thing, right? Ox and Ass bowed before him, symbols of ancient religions pirated away from their rightful king by usurpers. Why shouldn't Pussy be there, too?

See how easy it is to get distracted from practice? All I have to do is juxtapose sex and God. But that's what bellydance is, I think. At least, it will be when *I* do it.

Here's what I have been doing, and what I did today. This is what I will do for a year, or until I get good enough to benefit from formal instruction, whichever comes last (if ever). I got out some candles. I got out a mirror. I bound up my hair and tied some colorful cloth around my waist, and hiked up my shirt. I took off my shoes. I found the paper where I had started some notes, and I got YouTube on the TV and searched belly dance, and then I danced along, making physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual notes.

I define dance very loosely for now. It isn't recognizable as dance to an outsider. Jesus knows I was dancing. From the outside it looked like careful, stylized movement that was as minimal as it was ungainly. Why dwell on downers like injuries, ill health, and age? That's not what this blog is for. On a cellular and on a soul level, I was using a set vocabulary of movement in a unique way, to express joy to God. Hence dance.

Next time I post I'll be more specific about what I do, and I'll outline some goals.