Here at the first night of Stone Soup in Eugene, OR I witnessed a milonga floor filled with teachers, talent, obsession, joy, and beauty.  My mood meandered as much as the varied expressions I witnessed.  Sometimes I believe I am one of the tortured tangueros – heavy as stone.

This usually happens at the beginning of a good festival – the first night is populated with great dancers and I go through the following:  inspired at how beautiful so many dancers express; excited at how I may grow in my own dance, and the wonderful tandas that seem promised; humbled by the volume of skill I would like to and need to absorb; depressed at how little I seem to be able to give in a dance compared to the great talent in the room; and being hesitant to ask many tangueras for a dance for I just seem so bland compared to the gourmet tangueros.

On top of all of this, I go through my own questioning – do I belong here?  And most painful is when so many people walk off with friends, colleagues, and significant others – I go back to my RV alone to ruminate while being with my dear cat.

My night did start with a Tanda that I live for  - I felt so connected that my partner and I did not separate between songs, that I had that sweet spot of balance and connection that allowed me to express musical nuances, and I breathed the Tango and felt her right there with me.  I would have loved to have dance 10 tandas with her.  I had little flash, and later saw how much flash many tangueros could dance with her as she moved so beautifully with many very skilled tangueros.  My two tandas with her brought up the movie, American Beauty.

In the movie, American Beauty, the most intriguing, emotionally moving and haunting scene for me is where two characters watch a video of a plastic bag blowing in vertical circles in the air.  The feelings that course through me during that video are similar to what I felt by the end of the milonga – seeing incredible beauty with my eyes and feeling deep beauty in my heart, yet feeling profound sadness at how much of the rest of my life does not match the beauty I experience in so many ways on the dance floor.

My saving grace perhaps is the exquisite beauty within Tango that draws me back to express so much of what I feel in the music, with my dance partner, and the eternal hope I will, as time passes, be able to express and align myself with the full beauty in how the plastic bag dances in the wind of American Beauty in both Tango and my life.  I feel a little too stone like right now.

KUDOS to all that have made this UNIQUE Tango gathering possible!