It’s pitch black. I’m sweating. People around me are gasping and moaning and writhing.

There’s only one place this could be.

The Yoga Barn on a Friday night.

It feels so good to get back to ecstatic dance. It was up there with coconuts as the thing I missed most about being away from Bali. Ok and Kadek. And massages and $5 pedicures. And not having to do the washing up.

Or laundry.

Within thirty seconds I have stripped down to a bikini top and half a skirt. But it’s ok because it’s pitch black and I could be naked and no one would notice and likely not care anyway. Anything goes here. Even orgasms on the dance floor.

I am sweat slicked and after another five minutes I’m completely in my own world, unaware of the thirty other people around me. I could be dancing on the moon although it feels like I’m dancing under a waterfall of coloured light. I’m aware of the irony of expressing this because when I first went to ecstatic dance I wrote a slightly mocking post about the non-ironic Ballet Rambert impressions going on around me as I danced with one eyebrow arched in amusement. And yet here I am, the one dancing in a way that would probably have the Ballet Rambert choreographer choking on his own laughter vomit.

I’ve come a long way in the last year. I truly embody the phrase ‘dance as though no one is watching.’

I have embraced Bali life. I am even making my own raw porridge with cacao, flax seeds and goji berries.

And eating it.

And then the teacher plays MC Hammer. And I come down like the dude in Jacob’s ladder. I arch an eyebrow, dress myself and head home.

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