the Connemara · 8:45pm Apr 20th, 2016
I wrote the following on some wednesday a while ago after having just danced the Connemara. (Read it to understand what that means.) I showed it to my good friend Chinchillax, who despite my skepticism claimed it was beautiful. He then proceeded to pester me into posting it here. That is why I'm publishing a blog post without having every posted a story on this site (that I don't reflexively cringe at now).
Without further ado, I present "An Ode to the Connemara":
Here in Belgium, there’s not really such a thing as a frat. What we have are “studentenverenigingen” (student associations). They have a considerably better image than frats. It probably has to do with the fact that almost everybody who goes to uni is a member of one. I mean, being a member of one gives you a discount on your books. Do you know how expensive books are at uni? Don’t worry though. We have fun as well. Studentenverenigingen also operate bars, and douse people in garlic shampoo once a year, amongst other things.
They are also tied to your field of study. Big groups, like the engineers, have their own. Smaller fields group together.
I’m a mathematician. Our student association is very small. We’re lumped together with the physicists and the IT-guys, and still our bar is only open once a week. Normal student bars are open every day.
Now, if you knew me you wouldn’t really expect me to bring this up, because I don’t actually go to bars. I hate loud noises. I don’t drink. I’m not a very social creature. I just don’t get enjoyment out of them, but I do go to my studentenvereniging’s bar every week. I don’t want to miss the Connemara.
Let me explain. “Les lacs du Connemara” is a french song from 1981. How my studentenvereniging came to develop the tradition of playing it every week, I don’t know. Perhaps it stems all the way back from the eighties. Wikipedia says the song was quite popular in Belgium back then. Perhaps it came later. I don’t know. I don’t care. I love it.
You see, we don’t just listen to the Connemara. We dance to the Connemara. The song starts with this very distinct sound of blowing wind. At that cue, people not currently on the dance floor drop everything and rush towards it. Those on it who don’t like the tradition evacuate. Everybody forms a large circle, arms over shoulders. Then the actual song starts... and we dance.
It’s a very simple dance. You throw one leg forward, then the other, all in step with the music. Those who know the text sing along and shout “hey” at the right moments, but you don’t have to. It’s amazingly simple: Don’t fall over. Don’t put all of your weight on the person next to you. First year students pick it up after five seconds.
And yet I love it.
You see, though the dance is simple, jumping from one leg to another while focussing on the music requires just enough of your sleepy brain’s energy to drown out the voices: the voices of pessimism, the voices of doubt, the voices of worry. Your mind is simply no longer capable of looking ahead. All available processing power has been taken up by the Connemara. What that means is that for a glorious six minutes, all that exists are these people, this circle.
And these people are all the same.
Because not only is your brain no longer capable of being pessimist. It is also no longer capable of being racist. You know that lingering racism that your dad gave to you? That part of yourself you hate? That goes away. While you dance the Connemara, it doesn’t matter if the person you’re leaning on is male or female, black or white, muslim or atheist, not even to that base part of you. You don’t need to suppress it. It’s just gone. All that matters about your neighbour is how well they can keep the rhythm.
And then, though the haze, your perspective suddenly becomes clear, and you see not only these people, but all people. All the people on the entire world. Your vision widens. It’s not only that racism doesn’t exist in the circle, it exist nowhere. While you dance the Connemara, for six wonderful, indescribable minutes, there simply no longer is such a thing as race, gender, religion or politics. For six minutes, everyone is just human, here and everywhere.
If it wasn’t a campy song from the eighties, I’d call it a spiritual experience, because to dance the Connemara is to see the bigger picture. To dance the Connemara is to see all humans as one. To dance the Connemara is to experience that world peace is possible and to feel as if it were here at long last.
To dance the Connemara is to experience bliss.
This is beautiful
This is a good post.