dancing inside

It's easy to assume that dancers love "performing," being out there, vulnerable, powerful but fragile. I was quite surprised however, when I met Sirah one fantastic summer. During her 3-minute carte de visite introduction, she said that she had the greatest fear performing before an audience. Upon hearing this, I tried to imagine how Sirah led the rest of her dancing days. She studied at P.A.R.T.S and was dancing almost every single day of her life. In Vienna, all we were gonna do for the next five weeks was to dance. But then I asked myself again, is this the same as "performing."
Coming home, and only a few months back I came to understand Sirah's phobia. It must be my life experiences, my age, loving and being hurt, turning shall-i-kill-myself 27 that made me see her point of view. I saw myself in the same position. However, it wasn't much the fear but the anxiety and doubt over the 'exercise.' I then became obssesed with the idea of 'touching' the audience, I wanted to know what went through their heads while watching. But, I also wished they took more action, change my performance somehow.Then it was brewing inside, like a little demon, why perform? After two hours, everybody will go home back to their normal lives and maybe, our brief encounter shall matter or maybe it can be just another broken promise, another forgotten memory, an untouched souvenir tucked in drawer only to be thrown away after two Spring-cleanings.
Then discontent slowly consumes my body, how can I dance deeper and feel each single passing of breath authentically. How can I truly dance? What is dancing? Is it the unified order of steps, movement strung around a piece of sound or music. What should I go through each time I go out there and convince them to stay. Catch their attention and make a commentary in life. Create a space for communication, amplify the pauses and hear the silences, break the taboo of language. Some days they come and some days they don't. The stirring usually comes during rehearsals, when I can lie down for 45 minutes and wait for my breath and being to be comfortable to the idea of constant deliberate movement but keeping that small door of imagination open.
These days, I long to dance inside. To feel the spinal fluid flowing from my head down to my toes. I wish to emulate the subtle stirring of my body and give shape to the vicious substance brewing in my heart and mind. If I can only hear my own body from inside, maybe I can dance to it. Maybe, Sirah does have a point, dancing doesn't necessitate an outwardly expression. I am fascinated with dancers who move as if taken by something else, who forgets about their human body and transforms into a pure energy, shapeless but distinct and immediate. That's what catches me, something I take home for the night and wake up to its insight the next day.