You're Everything I Know That Makes Me Believe I'm Not Alone

A trip to Ecstatic Dance (but first a bit about Mohammed and his family)

Mohammed and his family need our help.

Last year my amazing Substack subcribers, along with other friends, raised over 10K to get my friend Mohammed out of Gaza to join his family in Giza, Egypt. He was one of the last people to get out before Israel closed the Rafah crossing. A few months later, he saw Instagram photos of the IDF smiling in front of the destroyed home where he, his wife and three children had lived with three generations of his family.

Giza is crowded with refugees from both Gaza and Sudan. Rent and food are expensive. Mohammed is making a little money from writing, enough to pay rent, but covering food, medical care, clothing and utilities is a struggle. Mohammed (who used to be an accountant) took a course to become a barber. He has discovered he is good at it. If he can open up a stall, he can consistently provide for his family. He needs $5000 in order to open this stall and get it running. I hope we can help him. If we all donate something we can afford, I know we can get him what he needs, and all of our help together will mean the world to them. Give $100, give $10 or even $5. It all added up last time!

If you can contribute do so on his go fund me or for no-fee donating, my venmo is sarah-miller-119 (look for photo of me wearing hat in lake - the last four digits of my phone are 2717.) and his friend Patricia who manages his donations from the United States will get it to him. My paypal is sarahpetersmiller@gmail.com if that works better.

Now enjoy this rare free story!

You're Everything I Know That Makes Me Believe I'm Not Alone

My friend K has been going to Ecstatic Dance lately and reporting back that she really loves it. She wanted me to go. I was a bit nervous about this. I thought I just might feel silly. On the other hand, I think I was also afraid of the part of me that would love Ecstatic Dance.

I talked to my friend H on the phone as I got ready.

“I’m going to Ecstatic Dance,” I said.

“Wow,” he said. “Are you looking forward to that?”

“I can’t tell,” I said. “I am always trying to decide if I’m a hippie or not.” I told him that my friend Joshua once said to me, “I know you struggle with deciding if you’re a hippie or not. Allow me to help you put this particular line of self-inquiry to rest. You are.”

“What makes you think you’re not a hippie?” H asked.

“Well,” I said. “I’m from Massachusetts.”

H said. “You’re from Western Massachusetts. Also, you spent a lot of time in the Pioneer Valley — that’s the Goa of New England!”

“Yeah,” I said. “But my parents are so not hippies. LIke, my parents are so intensely Kennedy era, very square Democrats.’

“Well,” H said slowly. “You’re not your parents.”

“Interesting,” I said. “You might really be onto something there.”

I said that I was probably going to love Ecstatic Dance. H said it was “what he would be doing in Hell.”

Then I smoked a little weed. Officially, I quit smoking weed, but I think everyone will agree the most important part of not smoking weed is knowing when to smoke weed. My weed is extremely mild, mostly CBD, which is obviously not a real thing.

K arrived, wearing a lot of necklaces. They looked sexy. I felt I needed to be wearing sexy necklaces. K said that before I dove into my vast necklace holdings, I needed to remember that jewelry and Ecstatic Dance didn’t necessarily go together because even though she did indeed sparkle alluringly, sometimes after you got sweaty, jewelry felt gross. I left my jewelry as is. We set out on foot.

I am forced to admit living within walking distance of Ecstatic Dance tips me toward the “definite hippie” category. Crossing the bridge into town, we ran into my friend B. Not three hours before I had told myself that I had to call B and naturally a large part of me felt I had manifested this chance encounter.¹

I introduced B and K. B reported she had gone to Ecstatic Dance last week and had a wonderful time aside from getting a back rub that was “a little too intense.”

“Do people touch you at Ecstatic Dance? I don’t want anyone touching me!” I said.

B and K assured me that if I didn’t want anyone to touch me no one would. Then I said “Good, my greatest fear has always been that no one at Ecstatic Dance would be able to keep their hands off me.”

Most everyone at Ecstatic Dance had either a beard or a lot of hair or both. Some people had children. There were more people wearing vests than one typically sees upon venturing out. Everyone had a water bottle plastered with stickers representing environmental non-profits, dance festivals or just “rainbows.”

I said hello to a woman I know from the place I used to work out. One day about three years ago we talked for about ten minutes waiting for the showers. The next day I tested positive for Covid. I texted her and said, “I just thought I should let you know I have Covid,” and she texted back she wasn’t at all worried about it. I texted back, “Alright well, considering yesterday I was standing two feet away from you in a damp warm room and we were both talking a lot and I am now in bed with a horrible sore throat, a disturbing rash on half my face, and a fever of 102 I just thought I would let you know, but I’m not going to force you to worry about it.” She didn’t write back but tonight she hugged me. She is my age and has a very good body at least partly, one can gather, as a result of her regular practice of Ecstatic Dance.

The music started out slow and people were swaying, and I swayed a little too. I was conscious of needing a meniscus repair on my right knee. The thing about Ecstatic Dance is some people dance together but the majority of people are in their own world. You can talk in the room where you pay and get water but if you see people you know in the dance space, like I saw my rolfer, for example, you don’t say hi, though you can nod or smile. It’s kind of awesome to see someone you know and not to have to talk to them, even though my rolfer is cool and everything.

It was amazing to dance and to watch everyone dance. I didn’t stare at anyone because Ecstatic Dance is about respect. I like to think my attention was mild and unobtrusive. Everyone there looked beautiful. I felt beautiful too, not like “I am objectively beautiful” but moving your body around in an unselfconscious way is just a good thing to do for your feelings of self-worth.

The DJ’s name was Brotha Jag. I liked some of the music and appreciated all of it. I don’t know enough about dance music to know what I like and what I don’t. I definitely prefer a downbeat, and these might be a bit out of fashion. Every time something was club music-y or had a Bollywood vibe I was super stoked. K and I more or less ignored each other and did our own thing, which was what we both wanted. A few minutes before the end she gave me a “do you want to go” look and I nodded.

On the way out, a young woman made eye contact with me and said, “I love your dress.” I said, “It’s from Old Navy, they’re practically giving them away, I have three of them in different colors.” She said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have an amazing chest.” I said, “Thank you, I am taking that the right way, you have delighted me.” We paused to look at some jewelry. I was interested in a moonstone pendant on a waxed string. The vendor said that if I washed it in the Yuba River, it would open my heart. K bought it for me, but said she’d take it back if I did not wash it in the river as directed.

Last night it was Tuesday again and Ecstatic Dance happened but I did not go, only because my friend C is visiting from New York. She used to live here and can’t believe I still manage it. I said that living here and being annoyed by the vibes from time to time but also somehow grooving on them provided me with most of my will to live. I will be going to Ecstatic Dance next week, count on it.

1. The day I met B featured perhaps the greatest hippie event of my life. I had just moved to Nevada County, and I did not have any friends here. I looked into the bathroom mirror at my old house on Dow Road, more than fifteen years and six addresses and three and a half whole boyfriends ago, and said “UNIVERSE PLEASE BRING ME A FRIEND” even though this felt ridiculous. But then I walked out of the house and met B ten minutes later. She was also walking alone on the road. AND! AND! I DISCOVERED THAT SHE HAD DONE SOMETHING SIMILAR THAT DAY, ASKING THE UNIVERSE FOR A FRIEND! ALSO Yesterday I WAS LIKE WHEN IS MICHELLE BRANCH’S BIRTHDAY. BECAUSE I JUST WANTED TO KNOW. GUESS WHAT. IT’S TODAY. JULY 2. Happy 42nd birthday to one of our greatest living singer-songwriters, the title of this piece comes from her. DO NOT TELL ME THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC.

Please send some magic to Mohammed. again, sarah-miller-119, paypal at sarahpetersmiller@gmail.com or his GoFundMe, which takes a small cut.