- a San Francisco firedancing troupe -
Fire. Flame. Orange-Blue-White. Goddess. Brigid. Pyre. Warmth. Comfort. Fear. Pain. Love Joy. Heat. Passion. Yum...
There are several other one-word descriptions I could probably use, but the editor-in-me would slap me silly for such a foray of incohesive content. Oh well.
Fire dancing has been another wonderful form creative output for me to indulge myself. Standing around such a volatile force of nature, willingly putting myself in harm’s way, one can have several wonderful revelations while playing with fire; a haunting melody, a sexually-charged breakbeat, a conversation with one’s muse, or a vision of one’s past, present, and future, as well as any alternate of the aforementioned. I’m granted moments of introspection that I never seem to have time for these days, except when I dance, of course. I lose myself in this tango with my orange-hued mistress, trying to please every one of her delicate whims. She can be a jealous mistress when one is careless... erotically stimulating with one hand and dimensionally pulverizing with the other. She demands 100% focus on her tantalizing heat when she’s engaged and is in constant need to be showered with gifts of oil, white gas, kerosene, and occasionally, bodily sacrifice.
Boy, can she be a real HIGH MAINTENANCE BITCH!, but I love her anyway.
Dancing with fire is one of the most primal acts of communication I as a being in this current reality can perform. The heat of the poi, the swing of the chain, the trails of fire (the smell of burnt hair) is pure joy. The act of spinning fire is a balance of grace and chaos on tightrope of pleasure and pain... Quite an enviornment for a Libra to be in. =)
I only hope I do the art justice...