The Temple of Song & Dance
~ in devotion to beat and breath ~
Note from Alexander: In a rare case of writer’s remorse, something about the original version of The Temple of Dance didn’t sit right with me. I felt like I’d rushed to publish without letting the story fully breathe, like I’d cut a corner in my own writing process.
I didn’t like that. So I dug back in.
Now, the structure is more sound. I’ve sharpened phrasing where I found fat. Carved out more space in key moments. Baked in a little more mischief, a little more flame.
And after I had a post-publishing revelation about singing, I knew a vital part of the story was missing. So just like a Pokémon growing up, The Temple of Dance evolved into…
The Temple of Song and Dance
You might not notice the changes—but I do.
Now this telegram sings, with the voice of the boy I once caged, chained, and buried.
Heart in a Cage
When I walk into a club or festival, my body squirms with pleasure as the bass slithers up my spine, cinches around my neck, and hisses in my ear:
“Move.
Now.”
A bounce enters my step. Warmth rises from my core, suffusing my body with the special, delightful kind of energy you can only find late at night in a dark and crowded room full of lights, lasers, and tub-thumping music. I’m buzzing.
I surrender to the beat, adorn my walls, and allow the energy to expand.
I don’t resist. What’s the point? What music wants, music gets.
And music wants you to move, now.
Moving towards the dance floor, I pass the watchers frozen on the fringes, clutching their drinks like security blankets, hoping their stillness and blank faces go unnoticed.
I don’t judge them, but I mourn what they’re missing.
I used to be one of them after all—except I never even bothered showing up.
I’d stay at home, sipping tea with my self-repression.
Pinky up, heart caged.
And I wasn’t having any fun.
Gotta Catch ‘em All
When I was 5, I had this tape recorder I could sing into.
I have a vivid memory of recording the Pokémon theme song at full belt.
I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was.
To catch them is my real test, to train them is my cause…
I even memorized the lyrics (which to be fair, wasn’t hard given how much I loved Pokémon.) Honestly, I remember my performance as being reasonably flawless (although I don’t know how well I did at carrying the tune.)
And I had so much fun.
Spirit in Chains
That recording led towards a path I wasn’t ready for.
My mom found the tape. I remember her reaction as being a motherly combo of delighted excitement and effusive pride at her child expressing himself so freely.
Which embarrassed me so deeply I vowed to never do anything like that ever again.
Despite being a musicophile who grew up in sync with the development of Discmans, mp3 players, iPods, and Limewire, I never sang again. I never danced.
Still, my love of music leaked out.
At school, I’d run an earbud under my shirt and down my sleeve into my palm. Then I’d rest my elbow on my desk and place my head in hand, secretly plugging into a world I actually wanted to be in—under the guise of a bored, sleepy student.
I majored in Green Day, Treble Charger, Eminem, Biggie, Simple Plan, Nickelback, Katy Perry, and Miley. I minored in whatever silly nonsense was on the chalkboard.
Most nights, I’d fall asleep with my earbuds in… waking up to them tangled in knots.
On the countless weekend road trips for hockey games, I’d be plugged in the entire way. Getting myself mentally prepared, yes. But also, losing myself in the sonic realm.
I worshipped music, but never let myself be moved.
I sang, but only in my dreams.
I danced, but only in my head.
Looking back, I recognize that I didn’t have the capacity or tools to understand or process my mom’s delight. So I responded by ensuring I wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable ever again in the only way a boy of five knows how:
By putting my joy for song and dance into an unadorned box and burying it deep in the temple of my own heart. No more self-expression through rhythm or groove.
Good heavens no.
Most of my life (so far) has passed this way, spirit caged.
Around certain people, I’ve felt a little more open to singing, but only softly, only under my breath, hoping they wouldn’t notice. I’d sing these fragments poorly on purpose, as if to prove I was a bad singer and I really did need a barge to carry a tune.
I listened with my head, not my body.
I never let go, never knelt before one of my deepest loves.
Like the slut for teasing and denial I am, I dangled pleasure in front of my eyes. Never letting it in, never allowing myself the joy, the holy release of being moved by a beat.
I lied to myself long enough to reshape my truth:
“I don’t ‘get’ rhythm.”
“I don’t like dancing.”
“I’m a terrible singer.”
“I can’t carry a tune.”
And still, I wasn’t having any fun.
The Temple of Dance
In 2023, I was invited to Electric Love in Salzburg, Austria.
I hemmed and hawed. I teetered and tottered. I found many reasons not to go. But eventually, I felt the call, the interest… a pull strong enough to make me say yes.
Electric Love is a three day festival.
On the first day, I moved a little, but wasn’t comfortable. I was eager to leave, counting down the songs until the night ended. Even molly couldn’t help.
On the second day, I took two tabs of acid. My world softened. My thoughts loosened. My wheels were greased for a rollercoaster ride through hours of house and techno…
Then a life-changing discovery.
Taking a break from the crowded chaos of the main stage to explore the festival grounds and see what was playing elsewhere, we caught (very loud) whispers of music unlike anything we’d ever heard leaking from a cave-like side stage.
Curiosity piqued, we wandered closer… closer… captivated.
Our feet stopped walking and started grooving. Arms, shoulders, hips soon followed.
Moving was… easy?!
This music spoke a language my body had always known but never heard. With this music I didn’t have to think about ‘how to dance.’ My body already knew the moves.
This music was drum’n’bass, which was love at first drop.
And I was having so much fun.
A Life of Song and Dance
Now, I can’t imagine not dancing every day. Singing too, amazingly.
My morning routine revolves around dancing to jungle dnb, bringing my body to life with sweet snares and crispy breakbeats (while making espresso and hydrating.)
I take spontaneous dance breaks during the day.
When I rest between sets at the gym, I’m grooving.
I’m bringing the voice that five-year-old me wielded without shame back to life.
I picked a couple songs I take great pleasure in singing to, and have been practicing most days. And you know what? I think I might be half-decent. A dream is forming.
I’ve found the register where I feel a deep, thrumming resonance in my chest. I’m learning how to reach that resonance more easily, more consistently. I’m getting closer to singing not just with voice, but with nerve endings.
Music seems to have transcended being something I listen to, into something I am.
And I’m having so much fun.
With love from the fog,
~ Alexander, Flamebearer of Emberbrook