So You finally

made it back

to Ballet Class.

Listen.

The Dancing Master is speaking.

Her silver hair sparkles

in the autumn light

above Mount Tam.

Listen.

The Dancing Master is speaking.

“You

are in Ballet Class.

Leave your children

your lover

and your family

outside the studio.

This class

is for you.”

So what

if twenty years, or forty years

have vanished

since your sister came home

in tears when she was sixteen

and told you she was never

going back to Ballet Class. You

made it back.

“Listen.

Do not

let your mind wander.

After class,” she says

“Go look at the autumn leaves.

Observe the birds

in flight.

Right now,” she says,

“You are a wild animal

in the woods.

“You must be HERE

You must be present

in this studio

right now

 

like a wild animal

is present in the woods

like a wild animal

is here. And no where else.

And in no other moment

but this one.”

The Age of Reason

guillotined itself two hundred

years before this autumn afternoon.

This is the NEW age. Mount Tam

rises, imperious,

into the autumn twilight.

Do not think

about your past life

or your sister

or the origins of Ballet

in that demented Court

do not think

about your other

self

leave your other

self

in the North Beach bars. Leave

that girl, stumbling down Broadway

at midnight, the rain swirling

on the flashing neon signs,

dodging sailors in blond

crew cuts, her red shoes

with five inch heels

buried in her bag, limping

along the shiny concrete,

searching in all the drainpipes

and quarter operated sperm-banks

for her one true love.

Those ruby slippers

that never took you home

are in shreds.

You are not that girl.

You are not

your sister.

 

You did

make it back

to Ballet Class.

Do not think

about

your lover’s wife

executing developpes with

highly extended legs and perfectly

pointed toes at the barre

in front of

you.

So what.

If you are Cinderella

and your wicked stepsisters will not

let you go

to The Ball?

You

made it back

to Ballet Class

and the Dancing Master

is giving you

the Barre.

So what?

so what if your husband destroyed his brain

with crack cocaine before he

drove off the road

with your darling baby boy?

So what

if you will never get to perform

in a ballet recital?

Your darling boy

 

is safe.

You can feel

your

core.

And you

made it back 

to Ballet Class.

So what

if your Handsome Prince

lost your other

glass slipper?

So what if you

destroyed

your own brain

with psychiatric medication

while your very own

autistic savant musical genius

lived

in his funky old car

in Berkeley

and refused

to join

you

in your

living room

overlooking

Mt. Tam?

You

have learned how

to balance on one foot

for a millisecond

in front of

twenty two

people

and in this millisecond

is the entire universe.

In this millisecond. In this one

 

failed-to-execute-

rond de jambe

just as it is

is the entire

universe.

So what if your mother

wouldn’t let you go

to Ballet Class?

So what if your mother

let your sister

go to Ballet Class while you

tried to figure out why

your mother

wouldn’t come home from

that mental hospital

at the end of that long

winding highway

through the autumn leaves

in Kansas?

So what if your Daddy

walked your sister

to Ballet Class

every afternoon

through the autumn twilight

past the dead leaves

whirling in the gutters

like sylphs

at a fairy dance

that has no end

while you

had to walk

him home

from his office

at four o clock in the afternoon

to make sure

he got there?

 

So what

if the psych meds

twisted your shoulder into a cramp

for three days

and you could not

crawl to the kitchen

for a cup of tea

while your husband moved in

with another woman

and your lover

left you and his wife

the same week your father died

so what if

your mother died

and The Dancing Master died

and your darling baby boy grew up

and your very own autistic savant musical genius

got lost at the bottom

of the Grand Canyon

while refusing to inform

the park rangers

of his presence?

So what?

You learned to sing

a little Mozart and

You got off

ALL your psych meds

just like you

quit

working

at the Lusty Lady Theater

thirty years ago

And then you

put

all

your

clothes

back

on

and you crawled

on your knees

 

back to Ballet Class.

Listen.

The Dancing Master

is speaking.

You can still hear her.

“You

are in Ballet Class.

leave your children

your lover

and your family

outside the studio

this class

is for you.”

Listen.

She remembers

the Age of Reason

she is throwing you

a rope

in the Sea of Love.

You, she says

are Royalty.

Put on

your costume.

Hold up

your Magic Wand.

You

are a Benevolent Ruler.

Your mother has always

remembered

all her lines, she kept acting

and she became A Star.

she was Good to All

Her Children, and she was

always Calm, withdrawn

into a state of deep

Samadhi

in between

performances. She has returned

to that Samadhi

now

and you can feel your Core.

 

Bow to your mother.

for your mother

is the Queen.

You don’t need

to look

any longer

into the gutter.

Always look up,

and just beyond

your courtiers,

towards Mount Tam.

Your toes always found

their next glissade

on a perfectly even line that

stretches from the Garden of Eden

to Judgment Day

While your sister and your mother

and your lover and his wife and your husband

and your very own

autistic savant musical genius

and even that dizzy daddy-0

are

all dervishes, all sylphs

all courtiers

cascading, twirling, falling and recovering

in perfect

Da Vinci compass-drawn arcs,

circles, triangles, & squares

throughout the Age of Reason

and Revelations

and middle age.

You are twirling

like a spinning top

You

are a star

whirling in your orbit

You

are perfect, even as

All your Relations are perfect.

 

All your experiences

are perfect.

Hold your head up.

Lift your chin.

Straighten your neck.

Curve your arms.

Drop your shoulders.

Your back is a bird

You have taken flight.

Your feet are twirling leaves

swirling in the cascades of rain

the fox are coming in for the kill

and the peasants

have taken control

of the palace

but this does not concern

you, because your

darling boy

is safe.

You can feel

your

core.

And you

made it back to

Ballet Class.

You are the moon

whirling around the earth

You are the earth

whirling around the sun

You are the sun

whirling around the universe

you know

that You

will be satiated

at the dark of winter

in the silvery fog

beneath the waxing

and waning

moon

by the earth

whirling around you

like a woman

 

circling

her

lover.

Because

you

made it back

to

Ballet Class.

 

first written December 1998

for Catherine Sim, The Dancing Master.

Reconfigured 2016 for All My Relations.