Dancing Alone

The weather last Thursday was perfect for a walk through the park. The air was clear, the sun bright, a slight breeze stirred the air. Camera in hand, I took a taxi ride to Tian Tan - The Temple of Heaven, in the southeast sector of downtown Beijing. There were relatively few people on the massive park grounds, except along what is called the long walk, a maze of covered walkways outside of the temple proper. There was no particular agenda for the day, except to be a people-watcher.

For two hours, I strolled about, stopping sometimes to watch a particular activity, or to laugh with folks as we tried to communicate with limited language commonality.

Here was a trumpeter and two woodwinds, in the early stages of finding a mutually acceptable key in which to play, two ladies of a certain age beside them warming up their voices for renditions of Chinese Opera arias they knew by memory; A few steps away ladies of the same age were teaching younger, but still mature, ladies the graceful art of the classical dance. Erhu players with all livels of skill were playing folk and classical pieces.

I stopped to "chat" with a gentleman in full military uniform emblazoned with medals, a former Chinese army officer in the Korean War. Through hand gestures and viewing a couple of his several books of photographs, which he carried in an aging shoulder case, I learned a bit of his life. A bystander who spoke "a little English" told me he was a regular at the park, who loved to meet new people.

Then on, past pocketss of ladies chatting and sewing small objects for sale, pausing to admire the handwork of one who was assembling brightly decorated silk baby boots and shoes. There were dozens of four-person card games in progress as people sat on the broad railing of a low barrier or stood to it's sides sometimes shouting "aha!" as cards were slapped on the gaming surface.

In an open area east of the long walk crowds of tourists were gathered where tango music blared from a battery powered sound system. Dancers were sharing or practicing their best moves. It was there that the insight of the day came to me.

Some of the dancers were exhuberent in their grace and movemen, some more relaxed, some learners were struggling. A few tourists joined in, "hamming it up" for their memory book as a fellow tourist snapped away with a pocket digital camera. But what struck me was a single girl, younger than most of the dancers, with long flowing hair, rhinestone flowers on her form fitting denim jeans and a bright green sweater, dancing alone. Her movements were precise, they were appropriate to the music. For perhaps 20 minutes, as couples swirled and twirled about her, she danced alone. No other dancers approached her offering to be a partner, no one even spoke to her, as far as I could see. The effect was one of isolation, The slight smile on her lips seemed to be a verneer to cover a sense of isolation and loneliness. Her eyes were focused on... nowhere.

I felt sorrow for her. Later, at home, processing the photo taken of her, that feeling returned, together with what was perhaps a new level of insight into human nature.

I think there are times in life when we all dance alone. Sometimes it is by choice, others it is enforced upon us by uncaring passers-by. Think of the person chosen last for a pick-up ball game, or the wallflower, male or female, at a youth dance. Or, perhaps, the student at the back of the room, the adjoining seats unoccupied. I remember a passage from "the Gulag Archipelago" in which Solhenytzyn talks of a man unjustly taken by secret service men,on the street where he lived. Two agents pulled him from a crowd, but "nobody protested; nobody cried out against their actions; nobody tried to resist."

A friend recently told of a Tongan girl, her first day in Beijing, alone, knowing nobody. She sat in the lobby of her hotel, watching people passing by, hoping for a friendly smile, some signal of a friendship to become. In her own mind, as she related her feelings, she had a sense that "someone would come by." In fact, someone, or rather a couple, did come by, there was that "moment of recognition." and an instant and productive friendship was born.

What to make of these collected experiences? It seems to boil down to questions of personal choice. There are times when we "just want to be left alone" in whatever pursuit we are engaged. Other times we may crave interaction, but be denied it by others concerned about their own issues. But the result will, I think, be the product of our own inner workings from moment to moment. I think of Isaiah's prophetic "man of sorrow, acquainted with grief" who spent His life in bringing comfort and hope to others, once saying to His closest associates in a time of great suffering: "could ye not wait this hour with me?"

We can't know what the girl "dancing alone" was thinking last Thursday afternoon. but I'm glad she was there. She gave me some things to think about.

Enjoy!

Photographs of the day may be seen at www.pbase.com/calajimw/springday.