My love of ballet is born from an appreciation of the deep strength of grace


I love ballet.  I have loved it since I was a child.  My first act of “cross-dressing” was to don a leotard and tutu and to mimic the poses in a full-length mirror. [Ballet clothes in my life blogged about here].  Since a leotard hides little, it was also an exercise in dysphoria.  No matter, ballet, and the ballerina, have remained for me a kind of physical emblem of feminine beauty like no other.

The tensile strength of a ballerina is like that of the ant—beyond any human understanding of how such strength can come out of all proportion to the lightness of the body, its positive airiness.  Fragile, yet strong.  That to me is the perfect expression of feminine beauty.  Such beauty is not just physical.  I have seen this same characteristic in Mistress, which I have written about here, and which draws me to her.  It is a spiritual out of all proportion to the human vessel, just as for a ballerina, her physical power dwarfs her frailty and lightness of being.

Watching great ballet is to watch this dialectic made physical.  And the grace of movement is poetic, softness laced with steel cables, so thin that you can hardly see them, but so strong, that there is no mistaking their presence.

The man in ballet plays a different role.  He is strength, physicality, and the platform for her to soar, float, and fly.  When I think of a man in this sense, I am not him, I am the ballerina, and I feel his strong hands on my waist as he holds me aloft.  And that thought is healing.

Do you know the dance troup Les Trocks?  This is an all-male dance troupe of ballerinas, who do a pastiche of great female ballet roles, dressed as ballerinas, and do a rather amazing job at it, though the performance is also laced with good humour.  I find it totally inspiring to see a man standing en pointe.  If they come to your town, do go and see them, and see them as I do, a source of hope for a male bodied fantasy ballerina like me.

And of course, there is the movie, Billy Elliott.  What a wonderful and heart-warming story that it is.  For him to find the courage to express himself has many parallels to my own journey…and the final moment when he appears as a Phoenix is more than relevant.  I often dream of myself in that way and feel that kind of energy especially when I kneel before Mistress and feel myself vulnerable, innocent, filled with love and child-like wonder (those are my Phoenix moments, the moments when I feel that I am being born again…I am covered with a rainbow of colours, sparkling jewels, and as white light is made of the full spectrum of visible light, so too am I, and I feel those colours and that energy emanating from me.  And when I say that I wish to feed Mistress with energy and happiness and joy through my love and submission, this is what it looks like, a rainbow in a cup that is spilling over from fullness.

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