Reincarnation on The Dance Floor
There are some Sundays you go to church. And there are some Sundays where your body becomes one.
This Easter, I didn’t sit in a pew and listened to a two hour sermon, like little me often did. This Easter Sunday, I wore white, arrived on the 5 Rhythms dance floor, and I began on the floor.
Something inside me said: begin low. Touch the ground. Begin with your ear to the earth, your spine in surrender.I touched each of my chakras and checked in on their pulsating energies.
And just like that, I wasn’t entering a class. I was stepping into a ceremony. The first wave was slow to start. Intrusive thoughts knocked like guests I hadn’t invited. I felt stuck. Awkward. Like the music was in the room, but not yet in me.
So I returned to the ground. And that’s when I remembered:
Movement isn’t about performance. It’s about devotion. When I returned to the ground — when I let my thoughts be prayers, and my movements be offerings — everything changed.
The wave carried me. And it wasn’t just a wave of rhythm. It was a wave of returning. I danced with shadow. With a presence that felt mysterious, intense — like the dark edge of something sacred. I didn’t shrink.
I danced it. Like Durga in a fire ritual. Like light learning how to move with darkness, not against it.
And in that same wave, I was also joy. Spinning. Laughing. Becoming light again. I danced with my sister. Me in white, her in black. Two halves of the same moon. We moved together like inhale and exhale. Playful. Loving. Free.
During the second wave, a circle formed. We shook out energy. Released what no longer belonged. And from deep inside me, something rose. A sound. A chant. A fire in my belly. I chanted: HA. HA. HA. Solar plexus to throat. I thought no one would join. I almost swallowed it.
But I didn’t.
And then she came.
The lioness.
With a roar.
That roar was an invitation. An invitation to open my throat chakra and explode. So I roared a. LOUD. FIREY. UNTAMED ROAR. The room turned toward us, not with confusion — but with awe. Something primal had been awakened. Something deeply true. That moment cracked me open. The part of me that used to whisper for permission finally took up space.
That was the moment I knew — I had been reborn.
Art heals. But not always quietly. Sometimes healing looks like sweat, like roar, like trembling limbs on a hardwood floor.
Sometimes it looks like forgiving a stranger with your body. Sometimes it looks like forgiving yourself.
Five Rhythms isn’t just dance.
It's a ritual.
It's a memory.
It’s movement as reincarnation. The self you walk in with is not the self you walk out with. On Easter Sunday, I didn’t just honor resurrection.
I lived it.
And now, I carry that flame in every step forward.
If you’re ready to step into your own resurrection—whether it’s finding your voice, reclaiming your passion, or remembering the truth of who you are—I would be honored to hold that space with you.
Book a session with me today, and let’s begin your journey back to the flame that has always been yours.
