Fire Spinner

I started spinning poi almost a year ago: July 2005, on the roof top of Freeman. I taught myself the basics, and then some more. I was adamant about it. I love the flow of it: two vectors traveling through space that never were allowed to collide or change their path abruptly. It was easy for me. It was thinking about how blades move through water. If these two objects were spinning the ocean, how could they go? How could they not go? Now take them out of water, and apply the same physics to air. After all, air isn't space, it is billions of particles floating around, just like in water, simply not as compact. It was brilliant.

It was taking my element, water, and applying my knowledge of it to air.

And I was happy with the socks, and with the poi with tails. Honestly. They are beautiful, with these bright pinks swirling all around me. Nothing could make me happier.

And then, after a while, I met some other spinners who had pushed me into fire. No. They didn't push me, but they made it look so lovely and perfect that I had to try it. And I was terrified of it. Terrified. It was so dangerous, and everyone was watching me. My biggest problem was people watching me. They watched me with the socks, and it was an issue. They watched me doing anything, and it was an issue. I was not ready to be seen, I was not ready to be the center of attention. Attention, I love. Yes. Not when I have to perform though.

I don't know where this fear came from. I have my theories. Partly because my mom forced me to do recitals with instruments when I was a little, and partly because of my issues of standing out and becoming a burden. After all, if you stand out, it is easier for people to poke and figure out what is wrong with you and abandon you than if you stand in perfectly. Or perhaps it was the pressure to be perfect at everything, and really I am not. Who knows.

For that past year, I've been dealing with this anxiety and people watching me. I've been dealing with performing. I've been dealing with this idea of flow and the poi being an appendage of me. And last weekend, it all came down to the Latina Cultural Show, and you know what? It was horrible. I did fine, and that was good. But I couldn't breathe, I was shaking, I thought I would pass out from how dizzy I was. I walked off the stage, and fell down in a heap and cried my little eyes out from the anxiety.

And then last night came. I went to a burn at Brandeis, and people watched me spin. A lot of people watched me spin, a lot of times. And not once was I disconnected. Not once did I hit myself. Not once did I tense up and freak out. Not once was I thinking about the people watching me. It was glorious. I finally hit that spot, that flow, that feeling of just me, and the warmth, and the fire.

Amazing, I hadn't picked up the poi since January, I picked it up again two weeks ago, and suddenly, it more natural than anything I've ever done before. Ahhhh, it feels good.