My eternal dance

My eternal dance

Sri Mulyanti Goenawan

Listen carefully to the rhythms. Listen carefully for the themes
that occur and reoccur as we dance. Feel the warmth of the
music's motion. Feel the flow of our movement as the music pours
over us.

The gamelan resonates through every fiber as we express our
meaning, our worth, our place in the world through our
performance. Our batik cloth glides as we move and our movement
tells our tale. Our movement is slow, our expressions are limited
-- some might even say we are solemn -- but our performance is
not for mere show and display.

The solemnity of our faces at once portrays our concentration
and our dedication. This is not only dance, this is us. This is
an expression of who we are. The kenong and the saron ring out
our music. Their lush tones vibrate through the air and lead us
on our way through the dance.

We are only four dancers and as we dance we represent the
eternal elements, fire and water, as they combine and invigorate.
They hold the power to give life and bring death. The air and the
earth also engage in interplay as essential elements of our
existence here.

Our dance eternal has such a mesmeric quality it represents
our life -- so full of highs and lows, so incessant and rapturous
and yet so full of problems, so full of trials and tribulations
which ultimately must overwhelm us and we must pass from this
world.

My dance has passed now. The dance continues, but only in my
heart and mind. But they say my mind is no longer what it should
be and, regrettably, I know that this is true. The doctors talk
to me of neurological problems my body is experiencing.

They tell me that there are specialists that can do tests and
diagnose my problem. They can administer drugs that will slow
down the decay of my body but I know that it is useless.

With all the tests, diagnoses and drugs in the world, all they
would be doing is keeping me alive. My spirit would be trapped
inside a useless body. What could be more frustrating and
painful than that?

I am a dancer but slowly my body is withering away.

First my feet became numb; it seemed as if they were no longer
there. Whereas once I could swivel and point my feet and toes,
now they are almost like foreign appendages on my body. They seem
to serve no purpose and give me no indication that they are even
there. Slowly the withering extends up my legs.

Once I danced with my eyes cast downward to heighten the
seriousness of our dance and I could view the ease with which my
body moved. It was almost a thing beyond my control as the waves
of sound from the gamelan washed over me and my body responded
intuitively. I did not have to think; it was instinct, it was
me.

But now as I cast my eyes down toward my withering legs and
have to concentrate so hard just to raise myself from a chair, my
body no longer possesses those powers of instinct. Every move
that I make I have to think about and work on to achieve.

My thighs are weakening, too; soon, I know, I will not even be
able to rise from my chair. Movement that was once so fluid and
easy has now been replaced with lumbering and hardship. My mind
is increasingly confused and consumed by the assembly of a
strategy just to get my body mobile.

Soon, so the doctors tell my sons, for they are fearful of
telling me directly, the simplest of movements will become
impossible for me. As my condition worsens, I will be a prisoner
inside my own body. I must prepare for this, but how do I ready
myself this misery?

I can only prepare my mind, as my body is already losing its
battle with this "disease". But I will not lose my mind to it and
my mind will remain strong and true to my culture and to my
dance. The dance goes on in my mind and invigorates me.

In my mind I can still be the fire and the water; I can still
be the air and the earth of my dance. My mind is still
stimulated by the soothing tones that ripple so wonderfully from
the gambang. As my body becomes more and more motionless, my eyes
move about more and more. Now that my body is so limited in what
it can do, my eyes observe and see so much more.

The doctors, through my sons, tell me that the disease will
not retreat. It will continue its merciless spread, robbing me
of my movement which once came so effortlessly and graciously.
My movement is gone now but my mind is still strong.

I will die soon enough, no matter how much they (the doctors
and my sons) shy away from this reality. They are fearful to
acknowledge it, to even speak of it. But they need not fear and
they should speak of it. It is my death, not their's, that lies
ahead, so close at hand now. It is me that they should speak to
and of.

If they would only speak to me they would see that all is
well. Despite the encroaching infirmity, I am still here and my
love of life is still here, too. I may not be able to dance
anymore but the dance is still within me. It will always be, for
it is the dance eternal.

As I watch the dancers now, they gracefully pause and pose in
positions of great beauty and elegance. Amidst their stillness a
gentle breeze glides through and around them. It makes their
batik flow and undulate. I am the breeze. That breeze is my
eternal dance. I will be part of the dance for eternity and it
will be a part of me.

Glossary

* kenong -- the largest cradled gong of the gamelan orchestra

* saron -- part of the gamelan orchestra

* gambang -- similar to a metallophone instrument in appearance
but with wooden bars