My eternal dance<\/p>\n
Sri Mulyanti Goenawan<\/p>\n
Listen carefully to the rhythms. Listen carefully for the themes
\nthat occur and reoccur as we dance. Feel the warmth of the
\nmusic's motion. Feel the flow of our movement as the music pours
\nover us.<\/p>\n
The gamelan resonates through every fiber as we express our
\nmeaning, our worth, our place in the world through our
\nperformance. Our batik cloth glides as we move and our movement
\ntells our tale. Our movement is slow, our expressions are limited
\n-- some might even say we are solemn -- but our performance is
\nnot for mere show and display.<\/p>\n
The solemnity of our faces at once portrays our concentration
\nand our dedication. This is not only dance, this is us. This is
\nan expression of who we are. The kenong and the saron ring out
\nour music. Their lush tones vibrate through the air and lead us
\non our way through the dance.<\/p>\n
We are only four dancers and as we dance we represent the
\neternal elements, fire and water, as they combine and invigorate.
\nThey hold the power to give life and bring death. The air and the
\nearth also engage in interplay as essential elements of our
\nexistence here.<\/p>\n
Our dance eternal has such a mesmeric quality it represents
\nour life -- so full of highs and lows, so incessant and rapturous
\nand yet so full of problems, so full of trials and tribulations
\nwhich ultimately must overwhelm us and we must pass from this
\nworld.<\/p>\n
My dance has passed now. The dance continues, but only in my
\nheart and mind. But they say my mind is no longer what it should
\nbe and, regrettably, I know that this is true. The doctors talk
\nto me of neurological problems my body is experiencing.<\/p>\n
They tell me that there are specialists that can do tests and
\ndiagnose my problem. They can administer drugs that will slow
\ndown the decay of my body but I know that it is useless.<\/p>\n
With all the tests, diagnoses and drugs in the world, all they
\nwould be doing is keeping me alive. My spirit would be trapped
\ninside a useless body. What could be more frustrating and
\npainful than that?<\/p>\n
I am a dancer but slowly my body is withering away.<\/p>\n
First my feet became numb; it seemed as if they were no longer
\nthere. Whereas once I could swivel and point my feet and toes,
\nnow they are almost like foreign appendages on my body. They seem
\nto serve no purpose and give me no indication that they are even
\nthere. Slowly the withering extends up my legs.<\/p>\n
Once I danced with my eyes cast downward to heighten the
\nseriousness of our dance and I could view the ease with which my
\nbody moved. It was almost a thing beyond my control as the waves
\nof sound from the gamelan washed over me and my body responded
\nintuitively. I did not have to think; it was instinct, it was
\nme.<\/p>\n
But now as I cast my eyes down toward my withering legs and
\nhave to concentrate so hard just to raise myself from a chair, my
\nbody no longer possesses those powers of instinct. Every move
\nthat I make I have to think about and work on to achieve.<\/p>\n
My thighs are weakening, too; soon, I know, I will not even be
\nable to rise from my chair. Movement that was once so fluid and
\neasy has now been replaced with lumbering and hardship. My mind
\nis increasingly confused and consumed by the assembly of a
\nstrategy just to get my body mobile.<\/p>\n
Soon, so the doctors tell my sons, for they are fearful of
\ntelling me directly, the simplest of movements will become
\nimpossible for me. As my condition worsens, I will be a prisoner
\ninside my own body. I must prepare for this, but how do I ready
\nmyself this misery?<\/p>\n
I can only prepare my mind, as my body is already losing its
\nbattle with this \"disease\". But I will not lose my mind to it and
\nmy mind will remain strong and true to my culture and to my
\ndance. The dance goes on in my mind and invigorates me.<\/p>\n
In my mind I can still be the fire and the water; I can still
\nbe the air and the earth of my dance. My mind is still
\nstimulated by the soothing tones that ripple so wonderfully from
\nthe gambang. As my body becomes more and more motionless, my eyes
\nmove about more and more. Now that my body is so limited in what
\nit can do, my eyes observe and see so much more.<\/p>\n
The doctors, through my sons, tell me that the disease will
\nnot retreat. It will continue its merciless spread, robbing me
\nof my movement which once came so effortlessly and graciously.
\nMy movement is gone now but my mind is still strong.<\/p>\n
I will die soon enough, no matter how much they (the doctors
\nand my sons) shy away from this reality. They are fearful to
\nacknowledge it, to even speak of it. But they need not fear and
\nthey should speak of it. It is my death, not their's, that lies
\nahead, so close at hand now. It is me that they should speak to
\nand of.<\/p>\n
If they would only speak to me they would see that all is
\nwell. Despite the encroaching infirmity, I am still here and my
\nlove of life is still here, too. I may not be able to dance
\nanymore but the dance is still within me. It will always be, for
\nit is the dance eternal.<\/p>\n
As I watch the dancers now, they gracefully pause and pose in
\npositions of great beauty and elegance. Amidst their stillness a
\ngentle breeze glides through and around them. It makes their
\nbatik flow and undulate. I am the breeze. That breeze is my
\neternal dance. I will be part of the dance for eternity and it
\nwill be a part of me.<\/p>\n
Glossary<\/p>\n
* kenong -- the largest cradled gong of the gamelan orchestra<\/p>\n
* saron -- part of the gamelan orchestra<\/p>\n
* gambang -- similar to a metallophone instrument in appearance
\nbut with wooden bars<\/p>",
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