Feet for Sale

"HONK!!!" the car went. It might as well have been a brick crashing against my head. That's how it felt. And for the first time ever, I was afraid while doing Open Space Activation Dance. Yucky feeling, but still I kept dancing. The emotional damage was done though, and that night, I cried into a pillow, holding tight to the softest thing around, in place of God's bosom. I pondered last minute flight plans to Hawaii or Trinidad. I thought, escaping the madness of 14th Street might mean leaving the country all together. But then, what of the dance? How will I dance with as many people on the planet as possible if I remove myself from whole nations of lands? And as I shivered and yanked my heart out of my throat, I thought, for the first time, maybe this is not my battle.

You know me, I love people. I love dancing. I love watching other people activate their own dance. So, to even for a breath consider quitting humanity, well DC at least--scares the &%!# out of me! Of course, how could i really quit? I'm alive, I'm breathing, I'm dancing obviously. But still, I had that feeling, and it made me rethink all my grand plans for planting JOYISM! seeds in DC. It was a scary moment of truth that simultaneously resulted in some of the most beautiful photos of me and a storm of tears, raining myself to sleep.

It all started with my imagination, per usual. My latest adventure: a photo shoot where I'm dancing barefoot in the U street area for JOYISM! promotional materials. It had to be that neighborhood; I had to be barefoot. I was even insistent that my photographer capture close-ups of my feet on the pavement--exposed, wild, and daring.

And of course, when I come up with my ideas, it is not because I care how others will receive me. In fact, my core motivation is the excitement of experiencing movement in a new way. The farthest thing from my mind is the anticipation of others' interpretations, least of all hostile energy. And yet, that's just what I got on the corner of 14th & V Streets, NW where we accidently, or perhaps, quite perfectly, started the photo shoot. I was not obstructing trtaffic, I was not a danger to myself or anyone. But with the reactions of some people, you might have thought I was running naked with a machete yelling "castrate Jesus!" (it was Easter weekend). The people regarded me like a madwoman, which is not to say others have not thought I was crazy for dancing in public spaces. But this time, there was a collective agitation with my spontaneous creativity. It unnerved the masses. They wanted me out. And they shouted all manners of things: "Put your clothes on!" the men at the AA building on V Street taunted. "I don't want you to get sick, baby. You might catch pneumonia," a man said intensly concerned for my health. "Somebody call her the a nurse. She's crazy!"

Meanwhile, I'm still dancing. Not ignoring the shouting, but very much aware that this is the moment I asked for. This is the community dance I believe in: Take the dance as it comes, unscripted and unstaged. Just dance with the people, wherever, however they are. And at the same time, I am very much aware that I don't feel safe. What to do?

I look up and see my photographer has stopped taking pictures. I'm motioning to her across the street to see what's wrong and realize her gaze is behind me. I sense that someone has definitely invaded my personal space and turn to greet him. He is posed like a scarecrow behind me and waiting for his picture to be taken. I don't really know what to do. It's amazing, with your shoes off, you feel much weaker. I want him to at least back up, but he doesn't. So I do.
He crouches to the ground doing some contorted squat dance. And I say, "Good Job!" because really I want to say, get away from me, but I'm too nice or too concerned about his feelings. Here he is embracing his movement. Isn't this what I asked for--for the people to dance "with me". Who's fault is it that my dreams came true and terribly frightened me?

There must be balance. Embracing the artistic experiment cannot be at the expense of my own well-being. Hmmmm, I wonder, as omit all the other things that happened in this essay. I'd rather you sit with me and listen, let me vent. I'd rather you just come out there and dance with me. The intensity of the people is too much for any one free-spirit to carry alone...Who's with me?