Delilah's 2008 Hawaii Belly Dance Retreat

Orchids at the Edge of Heaven (story and photos by Nura)
...tic, tic, tic, tic...
I had arrived at Kalani in the early evening, a day early. The few raindrops left from the downpour of warm Hawaiian rain sounded in a light “tic”-ing on the awning of my bungalow. The dusk sun suddenly re-emerged and gently flooded my room through the glassless, screened windows. The downpour had cleansed the air and left it with the intoxicating scent of the new-mown grass and patchouli mixed with the aroma of the beach close by. The combination left me breathless. It only was my first few hours here at Kalani.

First off, I couldn’t believe I was here – finally made it! After a year of scrimping and saving (and shopping), I’d truly been able to attend Delilah’s 2008 Belly Dance Retreat without some other person or event demanding a diversion from my plans (although admittedly there were some attempts at diversion left smoldering behind me when I left from Seattle). I don’t regret a thing.

Secondly, I was in shock and awe at the beauty Kalani offered. Green and sun-lit. Picturesque. Orchids growing wild. The chirp-like calls of the “cookey” frogs started up slowly at first, then escalated as evening approached, every day. I’d made the mistake of confusing them with birds at first, but was then corrected by Kalani’s shuttle driver, Nate. Their sounds and the daily rains reminded me that there was life beyond my daily commutes and morning latte.

I was alone with my thoughts (which were racing but nevertheless calm) anticipating the events of the days ahead. When evening fell, I looked forward in excitement to the days ahead and then slept soundly.

The smell of food and the high, smooth wail of a conch shell being blown to summon others to the dining lanai for breakfast jarred me from sleep. I awoke hungry both for food and for more of the sights and sound of these new surroundings.

After a brief and delicious repast, I went about exploring the geography of the Retreat Center. Donna (the Resort administrator at the front desk) kindly told me she would put my laptop in a secure place when I was ready to do so then enthusiastically suggested I follow the path over to “The Point”. I followed her suggestion. (Note to self: leave the technology behind – there is no place for it in the real life of Here.)

What I saw when I got to The Point took me by surprise – a cliff looking out over the crashing waves of the ocean. At Donna’s description of it, it sounded simple enough – cliff, waves, water, seagulls, etc. - but seeing this with my own eyes reminding me of the complexity and synergy of this whole plane of existence

Duhm…rumble, boom…crash - DUHM!

Breathtaking. The sheer power and rhythm of the water as it rushed the beach and enveloped the rocks below me was incredibly unsettling to the sense of routine I had carried with me from Seattle. I sat for about an hour and opened myself up to the experience; allowed the magnificent soup of life which is the very nature of the ocean to swallow me up into it. I listen with my spirit and my heart I had been reminded that indeed, I was alive. In truth, it could be said that I was born again from it.

I made it back to the bungalow in time to meet my roommate for the duration of the Retreat. Her dance name is Kalara, and I’d originally met her while attending Delilah’s “Power Belly” classes I’d attended off and on, in Seattle a few years before. She was winded from her trip, but like me she was excited to be there.

Kalara, like me, had opted to participate in the instructor’s course, and during one of Delilah’s classes we’d agreed to share a room during this retreat. Kalara had been taking classes from Delilah for years now and fully deserved recognition for her dance skills and talent. She is courageous and has a beautiful countenance. She gently kept me in line and on time.

Both of us excitedly chattered away the rest of the evening between ourselves and with other retreat participants, through dinner and beyond, about the days ahead. We showed each other our costumes and dance doo-dads and talked of plans and of Delilah’s schedule for the retreat. Even though Kalara and I were both somewhat anxious at the thought of teaching and being tested as the retreat wore on, we were too busy getting settled in to the new venue to give it any further thought.

That afternoon, we attended Delilah’s “Get The Travel-Kinks Out” Power Belly class. The class was not the usual hour that Delilah offered during the classes at her studio. It was almost two hours, and it was made all the more hard by the fatigue left over from our travels. It worked (invigorated!) and prepared us for the rigors of the retreat, but it was just the beginning.

Following dinner that evening, things got into high-gear and our training began in earnest. As an instructor, Delilah stands out from others from whom I had taken classes. She is gutsy, earthy, fair, and frank, yet kind in her manner. She doesn’t waste your time or her time for that matter, on cutesy flotsam or show-girlie stylings (except where explicitly indicated) – she focuses on teaching a person to recognize “the dancer within” and teaching that “dancer within” how to become a better one. In short, Delilah pulls no punches and takes no prisoners. She pulled no punches then either as she began the instructor’s part of the retreat by teaching about the grit of dance as a profession in an already too-competitive world.

A lot of eyebrows went up. We learned lots. Already.

The general study students arrived the following day and got settled in. As one of our assignments, each instructor was given the duty of watching over a few of the general study students, to help them to learn and reinforce the movements of belly dance by answering questions and clarifying the information provided by Delilah, if needed. Over the ensuing days, the instructors would take part in the Retreat along with everyone else – we would shimmy, turn, dance, learn more about the rhythms of the dance music and learn to keep time to it on our drums and zills. Laura Rose shared her energy through her version of Techno-Power Belly, and also through her dance skills. We would walk through nature to and from our bungalows and eat splendid meals and burn the calories right back off again by sharing our sisterhood through the belly dance. And when it came time, we would sleep deeply. It was beginning to be like heaven.

The schedule was tight and not yielding for the instructors. There would be no lolligagging about or any long off-time. As breaks in daily activity are given to the general study group, the instructors would use that time to teach to each other and to Kalani staff volunteers as part of our assignment. Topics written on strips of paper would be drawn from Delilah’s outstretched hand and with little preparation, we would each make our best efforts to relay our knowledge on the subject. There were many challenges and our teaching was not perfect, yet we each found ourselves surprised at our own abilities and celebrated our little personal victories we had over our self-doubts, with each other.

We fell into the rhythm of the retreat, and the belly dance itself, with seeming ease. This was in part with the assistance of Erik Brown. Erik in most excellent fashion taught us the basic rhythms of the music we heard in our hearts as we danced, but otherwise knew very little of outside that experience. We listened to Erik and to each other make those rhythms come alive as one drumming corp., and listened to the cacophony of our mistakes. When it was said and done for the most part and in clumsy fashion, we got it right. Those rhythms emerged from Erik’s teaching efforts to take form in our drums, in our spirits, and in the world around us. We danced with our fingers for a bit and every time it re-invigorated us.

The sound of the rain was thereafter transformed. No longer ….tic, tic, tic…. like I heard on the awning on the first day here. It was now very apparent that the raindrops had taken on the sound of “tek, tek, tek”. We excitedly searched the other sounds around us there at Kalani for the complimentary “dum, dum” which Erik had taught us to expect in the dance rhythms. I swear a bird greeted us as we walked to our drum class with chirps in Karsilama.

The House of Tarab played for us. They played generously and well - they did not play just to hear themselves play nor did they play like automatons. A listener could tell that each band member loved the music they played and that spirit inspired them. We roused loudly and cheered for them as they played each song. With our drum teacher Erik, on percussion we practiced our dances, we listened, and we clapped our hands to the rousing tunes like “Zaina”. We imagined we wrung our hands and yearned for home through the notes and words of laments like “Belady”.

One evening, the House of Tarab treated us and the other Kalani guests by playing “al fresco” for us at the dining lanai. Impressive! Every time they played for us, we were taken on a journey through their fresh interpretation of the classics and sought out the rhythms of each.

Friday came. It was a time of performance. And along with it, came performance anxiety. Those of us who would be dancing thought hard about what we had learned both before our arrival and during our classes at the retreat. We worried over it. We checked and double-checked costume pieces. We blotted sweat and suppressed butterflies in our stomachs. We plotted out moves in our heads, but what came of it all? We found ourselves dancing to what was in our hearts.

Class after class, moment after moment, something happened there at Kalani. Like an egregore, something alive grew out of the whole experience. It wasn’t just “Delilah’s Hawaiian Retreat” anymore – it became something more to each one of us. It was exhilarating and it was exhausting. When it was time to go, it was almost too hard to bear.

I’ll never forget those faces. Won’t forget Delilah’s true-handed guidance. Won’t forget the newly formed bonds of sisterhood which emerged from a group of previously nameless strangers, or the sights and sounds – the sacred forces of nature that seemed to drive it all forward from beneath.

I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Nura