Waiting for Rain
Little ballerina girl
Forgetting her body
Flying
Bending
Swaying
A magnificent tree
A ray of light
Grace
Beauty
Beautiful soul
Taken away by the music
Leotard, tights, and ballet shoes
Flying
Swaying
Rippling
Wonderfully lost
Music
Movement
Silence
Everyone stops
Ballerina girl comes back to the room
In a line with her peers
Five-, six-, and seven year-olds
The teacher teaches
Music
Movement
And she’s gone again
Over the music
Teacher’s voice
What’s happening with your arms
She laughs
It looks like you’re waiting for rain
Little ballerina girl
Crashing into her body
The graceful limbs of the swaying tree
Suddenly gnarled
Bent arms pointed at all the wrong angles
Hands to the sky
Cupped
Waiting for rain
She’s lost
Terribly lost
Taken away by the teacher
Her soul hidden
Her arms liabilities
Her body
A problem
This morning, my meditation practice revealed the memory of an event that I hadn’t thought about in a long time. As a young girl in Jacksonville, I took ballet classes. During one class, the teacher called me out for the ungraceful way I held my arms. “It looks like you’re waiting for rain,” she said, mocking how I held my arms close to my sides with my hands cupped and turned toward the ceiling. I surveyed my arms and saw she was right. Although I laughed off her remark, the incident evoked a self-consciousness about my dancing body that I’ve never quite shed.
During meditation, I let this event percolate. Soon, it took the form of a poem. As I wrote it, I realized it had all the hallmarks of a “dis-membering” event. I learned this term recently at a retreat I attended called Re-Membering through Awe and Wonder, convened by Lorrie Gaffney and DanaLee Simon as part of the Compassionate Living Community. During the retreat, we spent time identifying what disconnects us from and reconnects us to the deep wisdom of our compassionate core. Some of these include judging or being judged, comparing ourselves to others, ignoring or being ignored, perfectionsim, and being treated with disrespect or hostility.
In writing my memoir, I’ve found and written stories of dis-membering events that live in each part of my body. In the process, I’ve learned to listen to what each part needs, and, to the best of my ability, provide the long-awaited attention, compassion, and care necessary to heal. The project is, at its core, an attempt to re-member myself.
When I considered my ballet poem as a story of dis-membering, I wondered if it could also become a story of re-membering. I decided to see what would happen if I wrote it in reverse, as a mirror poem (also called a palindrome poem) that could be read in either direction. After a few tweaks, I found my dis-membering poem was, indeed, also a poem of re-membering.
In case it’s hard for you to read from bottom to top, I’ve reproduced the poem below in its reverse form. While the top-to-bottom version tells the story of a girl learning the perils of forgetting her body, the bottom-to-top version flips the narrative to showcase a girl who discovers the healing power of letting her awkward body flow with the music despite its less-than-graceful start.
Waiting for Rain – Re-membering
A problem
Her body
Her arms liabilities
Her soul hidden
Taken away by the teacher
Terribly lost
She’s lost
Waiting for rain
Cupped
Hands to the sky
Arms pointed at all the wrong angles
Bent
Suddenly gnarled
The graceful limbs of the swaying tree
Crashing into her body
Little ballerina girl
It looks like you’re waiting for rain
She laughs
What’s happening with your arms
Teacher’s voice
Over the music
And she’s gone again
Movement
Music
The teacher teaches
Five-, six-, and seven year-olds
In a line with her peers
Ballerina girl comes back to the room
She stops
Silence
Music
Movement
Wonderfully lost
Rippling
Swaying
Flying
Leotard, tights, and ballet shoes
Taken away by the music
Beautiful soul
Beauty
Grace
A ray of light
A magnificent tree
Swaying
Bending
Flying
Forgetting her body
Little ballerina girl
It occurs to me now that reading the poem in both directions tells the story of daily life. Every day, I experience judgment and alienation from my body in the form of external and internal judgments. Every day, I try again to listen past the critical voices and reclaim my beautifully imperfect body as my own. As the re-membering periods overtake the dis-membering times, I feel my soul fly, just like my long-ago little ballerina girl self who un-self-consciously let the music take her away.
For more information about the Compassionate Living Community, email compassionatelivingcommunity@gmail.com.
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