Anna dancing. Photo © Anna Librada Georges with permission
I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.
― Federico García-Lorca, 1898-1936
The 6-year-old twin boys are sitting on their parents' laps, their legs dangling to the wooden floor. They jump up whenever Anna Librada Georges asks them to follow the claps and stomps of a simplified flamenco routine. The 9-year-old girls sitting next to me are best friends; their parents have dropped them off. Hands go up as soon as Anna asks a question.
"Did you know that we can listen with our eyes?" she asks as she introduces her guitarist and explains that they communicate constantly, albeit nonverbally.
Anna, bi-lingual and bi-cultural, is also a psychotherapist. The daughter of an immigrant from Spain, she is tuned into children in an unusual way—through the language of the dance she has been studying for many years, both in Spain and the United States. It's an ancient improvisational art form based on lament, or jondo, a deep song. And today, it has a healing, unifying power as the adults in the room encourage their children to participate and try to relax themselves. I can feel the bands of worry and despair loosen.
"Let us ask for connection to our people," Anna continues as she repeats the simplified flamenco routine so we can all practice. Now what we are doing feels like a deflection, or an escape, a strange thought, but a pleasant one. It is easy to forget what has transpired in the United States, to wake in the morning in momentary forgetfulness, at least, until reality crushes again. So here we are, and here is Anna, up from DC to revive our spirits, the adults on their feet next to the carefree children, and we are all clapping and stomping. My husband, is feeling very carefree. He has been a flamenco aficionado since I met him, if not before. I wish we were dressed more flamboyantly for the occasion, but no matter, we are into it, connected through music and dance.
"It's a scary and unsettling time," Anna tells me in a phone interview after the event. "I tell my clients—some of whom have lost their jobs—that we need to stay connected, we have to listen to each other and we have to believe each other."
Anna's husband, Jack, a former United States Navy diver and photographer, now works as a Public Affairs Officer for the Navy. He's a federal worker who is witnessing first-hand the daily disruptions. When I ask if he works at the Pentagon, there is a beat before Anna says, "Not in the actual building. He's elsewhere."
"And will you be deployed again?"
"It's always possible."
I mention that my husband was in the Navy, though I was never a "Navy wife," and my husband was not a career officer; he was discharged before we moved to London. But Anna starts to chat more confidingly about the unsettled military life. Jack and Anna are raising two daughters, nearly 10 and 14 now; they are already world travelers.
Writing in my journal the day after my interview with Anna, I reflect on children dancing joyously, how they are our future, how we must continue to protect and nurture them, and to take care of ourselves during this trying time.
On 16 November 2010, UNESCO declared flamenco one of the Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity