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Tantric TANGO
Heat rises from the ball of my foot as it caresses the floor through a thin leather sole. Moving up my legs, the heat enters the first chakra, and then the second. A sheer veil of perspiration breaks across my skin; the pulse of my partner encircles me, and we begin.
You think, perhaps, that my story would continue from there, through every steamy inch of an ecstatic, mystical, Tantric sexual encounter. The passage is not about sex, however; it is, rather, the beginning of the most erotically mystical experience I’ve ever had dancing tango in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in a place appropriately named La Ideal.
I had been studying the dance, discipline, culture, and spirit of Argentine Tango for six years, and had finally gotten past the place where technique was a constant concern. Then, just as in Buddhism—when the student is ready the teacher will come—a very specific
partner took me onto the dance floor and taught me what none of the others had: the mystical dimension of Eros in tango.
Argentine Tango grabs hold of beginning students and quickly becomes an obsession. Its complexity challenges both the novice and advanced dancer with endless possibilities of intricate inventions and demanding precision. Since dance has always been one of the greatest joys of my life, I came to the study of Argentine Tango with a considerable repertoire of dances. The vocabulary of movement, form, steps, and patterns was nothing new to me. Filled with all the usual assumptions about tango, I went to a class, expecting to learn just another dance. This was like Siddhartha leaving home thinking he was going on vacation.
Wrapping me in a deep, warm embrace, he swept me across the floor like an ocean wave. I felt buoyant yet controlled by his lead. Full of joy, I went everywhere he put me. Step by complex step, we painted our tango across the marble floor.
Initially, I learned that Argentine Tango is more than a dance—it is a cultural phenomenon germinated in the humid petri dish of Buenos Aires in the late eighteen hundreds, a hothouse dance cultivated in back streets, brothels, and portside bars. It grew from the interaction of immigrants—mostly Africans,Italians, and Spaniards—challenging each other and creating an urban dance community. The biography of Buenos Aires is written into the tango—into its lyrics, and into the yearning refrains of the bandoneon, the accordion-like instrument unique to Argentina. The tango as it is danced in Buenos Aires is not like any other in the world. It is, as the Argentines will tell you, the only true tango.
After two tangos we stopped, waiting for the interval that marks the space between tandas.
That first lesson came seeping into me slowly: through conversations with Argentines; through acquainting myself with the music and lyrics of tango; through traveling to Buenos Aires; and, mostly, through practicing the craft of the dance. Tango demands commitment and perseverance. I learned quickly that spiritual practice and meditation are excellent training grounds for tango studies: maintaining a “Beginner’s Mind” attitude is essential, as is an awareness that is alert and responsive, but still relaxed.
Fundamentally, tango is about communication: a leader and a follower—usually a man and a woman—enter into a nonverbal relationship with each other, but they also communicate with the music and with the earth. The best leader does not use his partner to enable him to dance, and the best follower does not try to move to the music separately from her partner’s lead. The music is a river on which the
partners float. The man steers the movement, leading and inventing steps along the rhythm and emotions of the music, but the woman is never a weightless tagalong. She is, instead, a responsive and creative force in motion. Together they become pure concentration without rational thought.
To work on technique in this communal space becomes a practice through which each person develops the ability to attain balance and maintain harmony in the singular body. The dancers retain their own equilibrium, yet maintain a point at which they may yield their body or lend support.
He did not release me, and I did not open my eyes; though the music had stopped, our tango had not ended.
My third lesson was learned after several years of this study. Once one has mastered the movements—the caminada (walking step), the ocho (figure eight), the mordida (bite), and others—the dance becomes The Dance. The practice opens a door to a completely unexpected state: that of spiritual ecstasy. Tango becomes a study of the chakras from the inside out and teaches all there is to know about yin and yang. It is the full metaphor: the river, the boat, and the boatman.
His heart beat against my chest, and the rhythm of our coupled pulse continued to beat like that of a single dancer.
The world gossips about tango with words like sexy, steamy, or torrid, but those who dedicate themselves to it know that it can be one of the most spiritually compelling experiences in life. The difficulty is that this state can only be reached occasionally, with the right partner— and we never can know who that partner will be. Amazingly, it is seldom one’s soul mate, sweetheart, or spouse. More likely it is a stranger, or perhaps even the spouse of a dear friend, who completes us on the dance floor.
Feeling overwhelmed by the sensation, I slowly opened my eyes, sure that vision itself would ground me. Instead, I was looking into the evidence of my experience: our bodies’ pulse, throbbing at his throat.
Tango removes us from everything except our body and soul. We meet the divine presence within our partner and, hand in hand, we feel the pulse of life as a thrilling gift. It is a sacred and profane experience that most people only ever achieve through great sex, but in the dance the ecstasy hits in a threeand- a-half-minute wave.
This is why tango dancers are obsessed, addicted to the search for the next connection with a partner who will fit just right, who will complement yin with yang in perfect vibration to open the chakras and allow the energy of Eros to flow again. When will that next magical moment occur? That is the eternal question, the fundamental allure of tango.
A new refrain came through the air and his humid embrace tightened ever so gently. I closed my eyes again, felt our weight readjust and, as if on one foot, we began the dance anew.
I am reminded of the words of Thomas Merton: “Art allows us to find ourselves and lose ourselves
simultaneously.” If I didn’t know better, I would think that Merton had been dancing tango at La Ideal.