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Souls Dancing & The Intimate Touch |
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written
by daw84 / 10.24.2005 |
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Part 1: |
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I enjoy attending dances for everything except the part which requires dancing. To me, dancing has always been a series of forced, awkward movements which were better left alone than ruined by my feeble efforts. Others, however, live for the dance. Their bodies glide smoothly across the elegant dance floor, their steps light, their arms graceful, and their faces bright with newfound freedom and hope. My hope from the outside is to only watch and hope that through my careful examination, I will someday be able to mimic the observed motion to some satisfactory level. Even then, however, the resulting dance would be forced and calculated. To a select few, the ability to dance comes from deep within and gives abundant life and freedom. This abundant life from the depths of the soul is what Lawrence longed to find during his examination of the painted tombs of Tarquinia. Describing the tombs, Lawrence chooses to convey this life through use of strictly action verbs, particularly the verb, “dance.”
The Etruscans possessed a deep freedom of the soul in life, but more importantly in death. Lawrence describes the dancers with such vigor that these ancient images spring off of the tomb walls and explode into the room. An entire band of dancing figures decorates the scene, but from them he carefully selects one couple and brings them to life. The woman “throws back her head and curves out her long, strong fingers.” The man, wooing the girl with his every movement, “turns round to her, lifting his dancing hand to hers till the thumbs all but touch.” The image is so vibrant and vivid!
As D.H. Lawrence descended into the tombs of the Etruscans, he also delved into the unreachable recesses of his own aching and failing heart. His heart jumped at the sight of the sheer joy therein. He saw victory over the fate of all mankind in the tombs. Moving from tomb to tomb, Lawrence’s verbs convey the life through death of those who once laid there undisturbed for thousands of years.
Advancing through Etruscan Places, however, Lawrence seems to become more and more enamored by his own view of the tombs. He blatantly criticizes the Romans of destroying the Etruscan way of life. Also, the visiting Chinese and German cannot come close to understanding his own full, intimate encounter with the Etruscans. Ironically, his criticisms place an impenetrable wall between him and those he so admires and envies, and his descriptions become less and less inspiring. And, just as calculated, copied motion strips dancing of all its unfathomable freedom and beauty, the wall blockades his heart from ever becoming wholly unified with the infinite elation of the dead.
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Part 2: |
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The most dominant image Lawrence presents in his writing on the tombs is the image of life-giving touch. Between the characters frozen in time on the walls of the tombs are extremely intimate interactions. In the touch lies hope, freedom, joy, and love—qualities too-often unknown to us today.
From touch comes life. Although I have not yet beheld the splendor of the Sistine Chapel ceiling, the powerful image of an Almighty God reaching out to touch Adam—who He pieced together from the very dust of the earth, is what I am most anxiously anticipating. Feeling, emotion, and power all flow from God’s outstretched finger into that of Adam. Mothers caressing their little ones encapsulate this life as well. Pressing the little one against her breast, the mother protects the baby from the surrounding storm, and the child is warmed, comforted, and utterly unaware of any surrounding danger. Touch is so intimate.
The Romans missed the touch. Although they incorporated ideas from dozens of different cultures in their development, they lost the most important aspect of the art in their own backyard. Their enormous stone monuments still stand tall today, but something is missing. The Etruscan temples, made of wood, would have portrayed a life-giving touch entirely absent from even the most-realistic marble statue of the Romans. Wood—once living—chooses to pour that lost life into its structures. That is the reason that home is so much more personal than the downtown skyscraper. Although the skyscraper is better in every way (it has air-conditioning, dozens of floors, long-lasting materials, productivity, great views, etc.), home is truly where the heart is.
About a year-and-a-half ago, I was quite interested in a very cute girl. We would regularly spend hours on the phone, staying up long past either of our bedtimes. When we were apart, we would exchange long, beautiful e-mails about nothing and everything. During the months of our relationship, sitting on grassy hills gazing at the expansive blue sky and watching the big, fat sun send shadows across the landscape, I wanted nothing more than to just reach out and touch those small, fragile hands. I never had the courage to take that step, but it’s all I wanted to do. The life, love, and strength in that single touch would have been incomprehensible.
I long for touch. I am not a sappy guy in any way, but deep down I know the value of the touch. It is sacred and life-giving. It has the ability to build up and to tear apart. In the touch lies power and intimacy, and it is a gift that the Etruscans continue to give.
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