On October 30, a family gathered to mourn the loss and celebrate the life of a beautiful, radiant, compassionate, and loving being--Henry Moses. I only met him less than two years ago but he enriched my life with love and enthusiasm in every moment we shared. I knew him as a drummer and he blessed many dances for me in various venues. Last night I sat squeezed into the Harry S. Washington and Sons Funeral Home between all the intersecting factions of his life; the immediate family, the loves, the musical people, the political justice people, the youth he worked with--everyone was there, together, in one small, hot, emotionally-charged, spiritual space.
We sang, we swayed in the chairs. I wondered where will I dance when they break out the drums; there's just no space here, I thought. There was a song permeating the spaces between our bodies, filling in the gaps of misunderstanding and judgment. This song connected us across barriers of ethnicity, age, colors, talents, spiritual traditions, love interests, experiences--this song was the life blood of love, and we all sang it together willingly. The song, "Thank you, For Letting Me, Be Myself, Again," was Henry's favorite. We clapped together; there was an unspoken current of cooperation present at the service. That level of harmony that we more easily manifest when someone is dead, saying inside, "He would have wanted it this way."
It is so hot in my seat. A man crouching, tired of standing behind me, is breathing down my neck. My claustrophobia is scratching at me, and I kick my shoes off and stand where there is no more room for anyone to stand. I clap, I raise my arms to the Creator, lower them for the ancestors, and spread them to the side for all of us still alive. The Drum Lady, Kristen Arant, is leading the artists and the youth in front of Henry's closed casket. The dance is welling up inside of my heart and I release the anxiety of "where" will the space be to dance, and just dance.
I dance with Ms. Dana first. We spin and dip, rock and break together. I feel as if we might have been dance partners for a very long time. My partner's clothes spin beautifully in waves of brown and white and we smile in Henry's spirit. People start moving folding chairs out of our way. And suddenly there is SO MUCH SPACE! We are leaping, jutting are arms and knees into spaces, calling others up to dance with smiles and loving stretches. Please people, won't you come and dance the love of our beloved? Won't you come and sway and play to the drum's celebratory mourning? Won't you love Henry one more time with a big dance?
And they did. I dance up to the front where Henry's sister, Lecia, sits watching us moving. I reach out for her to take my hand and dance with me. A beautiful light emanates from her as she rises into the dance. She stomps, she shouts, she flings her arms, rocks her hips, she is the love, the sorrow, the grief, the joy. She is the dancing life that survives her brother's deceased body. I am so in love with her dance that even as my chest cavity burns (as I am still recovering and am dancing too hard because I just couldn't resist sharing dance at such a spiritual event), I am called to dance more. The family, the friends, the children, the elders all join in the dance more. The songs and voices of the mourners is transforming into calls of joy and elation. It's such a blessing to be here in this space, sharing a bit of my soul with everyone; healing the woes with constant motions of love.
"Love is just Love," the minister says. And how we all did love a man named Henry Moses, with our dance, with our song, with our tears, with our words, with our drums, with our smiles. When we come together in truth we activate the miracle of love, it's eternal "present-tense" quality. Tonight our love, collectively and individually, is expressed now and forever. Thank you for the dance, my dear, dear Henry.
won't you dance
the tears
into your feet
sister
your body carries
the joys and sorrows
of the whole
intoxication
indigenous motivation
the ancestral celebration
Love, sister
Love that
dance
it is all
we have
of our brother's spirit
(poem dedicated to sharing the dance with Henry's sister.)
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