[English Version] Contact Improvisation Dance
The art of feel, without attachment.
I’ve started Contact Improvisation Dance. From a Google search: “Contact improvisation is a dance practice where physical contact between at least two dancers becomes the starting point for an exploration of improvised movements.”
My first contact dance was in 2022 here in Bali. I was with Ineke, one of the girls I met at Lucid Flow with which I connected immediately, like Chris and Mel. She was already so free and creative. A gentle and elegant photographer with a sensitive eye, who was living around the world, working at times on sailboats (now she’s on a sail boat). We spent a few days together in Ubud after the training, a place she felt as home at the time, but for me it was still all to discover. I remember that that day we went to the healer and it was the first time for both with him, and it was a very powerful experience. Leaving there, confused about what to do, I suggested her the ecstatic dance at YogaBarn. But she said to me, “There’s contact dancing at Moksa, let’s go there!” I didn’t know what it was and I was a bit in trouble. I hadn’t tried ecstatic dance yet, starting with contact dance? Dancing in contact with strangers? I remember we arrived in front of this small shala facing the jungle, soft light, gentle music. It was starting, everyone gathered around one person for the tea ceremony, who then slowly began to separate and move, to free themselves. I was confused and a little scared. I booked a GoJek and told Ineke, “I’m going to Yoga Barn, let’s talk later.” Then, while I was waiting for him ti pick up me, I started to look curiously at what was happening in the shala, and it was a beautiful scene. The bodies were floating on that floor, the music was soft and accompanied them, some joined and flew together. I decided to try it and go in. Gojek tried to call me while I was already in. I never caught him. After two hours, I was lying on the floor, with a stranger’s hand on my belly. Sweaty, dazed, but with a new mind and full of so many intense emotions.
It was an incredible experience. That I didn’t repeat anymore. Until today.
Federico brought me back. He’d often told me, “Come on Saturday morning, let’s dance at Paradiso.” I ended up in his Spanish class actually, but then when we left, he told me that his true passion, among the many things he does, is contact improvisation dance. Then I remembered that experience with Ineke and wrote to him, “I want to try your dance.” He invited me to his class on Thursday, because he teaches it, as well as practicing it, and so I went. There were four men (him included) lying on the floor in a movie theater. “Welcome, come, connect with the floor.” That first discomfort is only the begin. But I managed it, I lie down too and decide to let it go. And everything started. You know how you come in, you don’t know how you come out. He guides you in listening to your body, to the water within us, in feeling. And what I’m trying more and more to do is get in touch with the intelligence of my body, which goes beyond the mind. I practice almost every day, I meditate, I eat good, healthy food, I always exercise a lot, I don’t drink alcohol, I sleep early, I wake up early... Everything is aligned and you can feel it, the body responds. The first lesson was powerful. There was a man I didn’t like how he was dressed. Outside of that room, I probably wouldn’t have “chosen” him. Then once we get in contact, he was the one who knew how to make me move in the softest way, feeling my inexperience, and he gave me a sense of trust that allowed me to feel as light as a feather, as Fede says. The first thing contact dance teaches is to go beyond appearances (seeing) and trust the contact (feeling), perceiving what can arise from it. You invite me, I invite you. That person was a tango teacher, an Argentinean living in Japan, and we met at lunch talking for hours about many very interesting topics. I went again the next Thursday, after a few days in Uluwatu with the girls. The energy of Uluwatu is completely different from that of Ubud—it’s like taking a break from lightness and superficiality, and it’s very needed, because life is YIN/YANG (quote by a friend)—but I wanted to return and continue this journey. And so on Friday evening I decided to go to Moksa, where I’d been with Ineke in 2022. I was tired, I’d run in the morning with RunClub, taught a yoga class, then went for a practice (because my classes at YogaBarn were expiring), however (when I’m ovulating, I’m full of energy), I had in mind to go there. A girl at the entrance asked me if it was my first time. “No, I came three years ago.” “Oh, it was right at the beginning,” she said. He gave me long pants (for better gliding) and, as in 2022, I was a little hesitant at first to observe and feel the energy of the shala, and then, slowly, I went in, as my bodies were already awakening. I asked for a mini cup of tea, and then I began to glide. What happens when you’re in that room? What thoughts cross your mind?
Many. You try not to think about it, but the truth is that everyone arrives there with a weight on their shoulders, that of their day, their experiences, their pains, and their joys. Yes, you arrive there with something that somehow wants to dissolve, change, and let go. Listening to your body’s intuition. Getting help from others. So you begin to move, stretch, crack, close, flow. From the floor you expand toward the sky, in a game against gravity. You observe others. Maybe someone catches your attention and you seek them out, maybe our bodies touch and begin to move together. Maybe the contact with that person who had caught your attention vanishes and you look for another, or perhaps they arrive without looking, and you let yourself be guided. The contact must be just a contact, but you mustn’t hold on, otherwise you become heavy. It’s the mistake I made at the beginning with Federico: “Don’t grab me.” You lean on, but you don’t grab. And by leaning lightly, the person can support you and help you flow, help you change patterns and land in another position. And I find there’s a great lesson behind it. In a relationship you can find harmony, trust, and if you continue to be light, you can continue to flow. But if you grab and become heavy, you break that lightness that would naturally, effortlessly, support you. I danced for two hours with different people, women, men, alone. There’s no performance, no ego, it’s just listening and energy in motion. So many emotions move within. We are water, and the more we move our water, the more something new emerges.
The next morning, Saturday, I finally went to Paradiso for dance, not the class. The energy was different from the night before. There must have been 50 people. Wow. Federico was there too, surprised that I was wearing long pants (I’d told him I didn’t want to buy them, but I realized it was a rule to help me slide, and now I look flawless). I flowed with many women, softly. One of the girls I danced with asked me at the end if I’d been doing it for a long time. I told her it was my third time. She was surprised, she told me she was practicing since two years and that it felt like I’d been doing it for a long time, too. I flowed with a few men, one in particular had so much strength and energy, crushed me (removing my feather), but also encouraged me to dare. I still have so much to learn. And I’d like to move even more freely, as I’ve seen so many do. (I’m reading it a week later, and that’s exactly what happened; today was stronger.) I tried to connect with someone and then he let me go shortly after, and somehow I felt bad. And I realized I shouldn’t have. Every contact is an act that can last a moment or be repeated for an hour; it involves an encounter and a separation, as with all people in life. It’s a free game of balance where you rely on physical and emotional intelligence and instinct. Nothing is permanent, everything changes constantly; we, our emotions, events change. And so do the people we meet. So far, from what I’ve experienced, I think contact dance teaches the art of non-attachment while fully living in the moment, with presence. That presence is very intimate and profound. But the more you practice, the more you become skilled at experiencing it lightly. I’m sure that those people who keep coming back do it is because in that presence there is so much love, comfort, support, and the feeling of being equally fragile, to be the same. In a world that fears connections, compromising one’s freedom, and showing vulnerability, this art form allows us to be free to be ourselves, whether fragile or strong, to become children again and play, and to test our ability to experience human relationships more lightly, ensuring 100% presence but knowing that a moment later, life could separate us again. Without fear of dancing alone, on the contrary. Because we might meet again. And is this perhaps the secret to a lasting relationship?
I saw a film at the cinema here in Ubud, the same cinema that becomes the stage for contact dance. It was about how everyone encounters traumas and patterns in their lives that, despite mutual interest, sometimes prevent us from pursuing a relationship. In the film, the two protagonists are led by a navigator in a car to cross the doors of their past together, to relive their respective traumas, and so, looking at them and healing them, they ultimately decide to give it a try. I was talking to Christine about this a while ago, because she’s been in a relationship for a few months, and like me, she’s a woman who’s built her freedom. She told me about the ongoing work they need to do to build mutual trust every day, because even when everything seems perfect, insecurities and fears can surface again. Nothing is permanent, everything changes, and the more we learn to accept this—that nothing can be stopped and nothing is ours—the more we can learn to live a healthy relationship.
I believe that in the flow, there can still be the choice to stop and establish some foundations, which is what I’m doing with my life. I know that nothing I have is permanent, and I experience everything that comes without attachment. But at the same time, I choose to root myself in certain places, to have a base to always return to and where, eventually, I can create something new. I’m teaching these days at SoleLuna, and what I absorb, I’m transmitting in the practices. After the first contact class, I taught a vinyasa mandala on water, which was very connected to the experience I had had, on the fluidity of the body and the release of emotions. At the end of the class, a girl cried a lot, and she was very grateful.
From contact, I went back to ecstatic, because the other day I was listening to dance music on my scooter and I really wanted to dance. Really dance, not flow, and luckily there was an event and ecstatic dance at Alchemy for the full moon. Maybe that’s why I needed a change, to return to a more masculine, more Yang energy. The music was beautiful, the energy of the people was powerful, and outside there was a fire burning something to change. And this moon in Gemini, they say, is a mirror, inviting us to observe what we are and feel in this moment. It invites us to listen to ourselves and sit with our history. And if necessary, evaluate, which pattern should we stop repeating? We create our own history. This morning I was supposed to run with the run club, but I turned off the alarm, I was tired. I went for a walk and then to a yoga class, randomly. I didn’t like the class, but evidently it was what I was meant to experience. I’m tired (it’s the week before my period), I’m confused, because changing patterns creates disorientation at the beginning. I came to Moksa with my computer, where the contact is tonight. In the meantime, I’m writing, reflecting. And a friend of mine just wrote to me that she, too, would like to spend a lot of time in Bali. Yes, it’s wonderful. Why is it wonderful? Because everyone here has the opportunity to truly be who they are and how they want. Today I’m slow, strange, listening, feeling the moon. And the island responds: good, stop, wait, receive. The “Vita Lenta” (slow life), which everyone loves to post on Instagram those three times a year when they go on vacation and then return to the craziness of everyday life, is simply normal here. And it doesn’t mean living slower or doing nothing; on the contrary, it’s quite the opposite. It means living even more intensely, constantly listening.
I’m finishing, because otherwise I’ll never finish. Before sending the NL at 11:11, because last night’s contact was over, I texted Maggie, who was supposed to join me: “I’m weird, I feel like something’s about to happen.” Shortly afterward, a guy who was at the dance (whose I was in contact with his hand in the closing circle) comes up to me and says, “Is the food good here?” “Delicious,” I tell him. “I recommend the Chef’s Bowl.” I invite him to sit with me. He stays and we have dinner together, getting to know each other. Iranian, living in Vancouver, he used to be an engineer but now he also organizes yoga and movements retreats (his next one is in Nicaragua), because he’s deeply into contact dance and integrates it into his retreats. He’s been traveling for a few months, but he tells me how he also feels at home in Bali, how his soul feels at home. It’s wonderful to meet like-minded souls. And I realize, every time things like these happens, how wonderful and powerful is to be curious, try new things, trust yourself and let things happens, without expectations.
In this order, everything is always in perfect order.