“Dancing is for those who are free.”
-Scarlett Johansson as Rosie in “Jojo Rabbit”
“You dance differently when you know you won’t live forever.”
-Maeve in Wonder Woman: Warbringer, by Leigh Bardugo
As a complement to the many derivations of my surname (Zerbs, Zerbster, Zerbmeister, a full-throated ZERBEY!, ad infinitum…), Spaz was a common nickname in school, with varying degrees of playfulness and derision.
I’m always moving, dancing in my mind or in the world. Dancing in soccer, mosh pits, conversation, sex, quidditch, wrestling my sons, listening, problem solving, kite flying, hiking, running, thinking, talking, cold showers, and the occasional dance floor.
The sunset above lead into the night of last dance I would share with my wife before she died. We danced like we were free. We danced like we knew we wouldn’t live forever. We always danced like that.
The first time I saw Mary she was dancing with her sisters in a bar in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. I thought, “Wow, there are some seriously cute hippy lesbians in this town. I wonder how that’s going to work out for me.”
Our first dance was at a Toots and the Maytals concert in neighboring Dewey Beach. I sweat myself right through on that summer evening as we were falling in love.
So often we were in a crowd at a concert or a party. Making friends in the movement, or moving on our own in a room of stodgy WXPN listeners. That was a Carolina Chocolate Drops concert at The Grand in Wilmington. Everyone sat very politely and, well, I don’t know what the hell they were doing. Appreciating the music? It’s dance music from the mountains, a gift from the Appalachian gods to the city folk who couldn’t make their own music (i.e., me and Mary). We moved off to the periphery to not block views and danced so fervently that we ended up on the television broadcast.
I don’t know the importance of dancing with one another. I am contemplating all the memories. My younger son on my shoulders as we pounded the mud and slid on the continous precipice of falling in front of Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band, tears flowing with sweat as they played, “Lay Your Burden Down.” Bowie’s “Rock ‘N’ Roll With Me,” as Mary and I shared our first dance as a married couple. My older son easily recalls weddings and music festivals where we danced from the first song to the last. A car alarm can inspire a pogo. A boxing match guarantees an Ali (with a strong chance of a Curly) shuffle. Sinatra came on while I made dinner with my girlfriend and a slow dance break was the most important thing in the world. There have been a hundred mosh pits from Pantera and Slipknot to Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails.
I don’t know how deep this runs. My life is set to the rhythm of dancing with friends, family, strangers, and lovers. It is heart beat. It is transcendent motion. It is outside ego, the untethering of the Self. Spiritual, euphoric, psychedelic. It is beyond reason and words, primordial, pre-lingual, the soul’s cry for return to the Infinite.
When we move together, we are together.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason