Leanne Margaret

Music warmed my heart from birth Born half-sized, and boxed. I heard it play, maybe a nurse And to its beat I rocked. It held me earthed until the time Someone came to claim me. Soothed to sleep by song and rhyme I rocked out where they laid me. Quickened by the radio I learnt to dance alone. Moving in staccato I felt myself at home. Music was a blanket Dancing was a hug. When I could make a racket It made my heart thud. I danced with belly dancers Then I learnt to teach. I leapt all night with ravers The goals I set were reached. Dancing was my joy The beating of my heart. My soul’s ecstatic toy My vocation and my art. But now I halt – with trepidation Aches, and grabs, and bites. Patella, in disintegration A new knee-cap in sight. The dancer flops upon the edge Of cavernous despair. In the next life , is her pledge While writer holds her by her hair. Change is how things come to be It breaks us into parts. And in my soul I’ve always known The word would be my art. My restless, pacing

I must pause a moment, from editing my memoir, to reflect on the art of memoir itself. I'm in the fourth year of active focus on my memoir. But of course, fragments of it have existed for many more years than that. I wrote, had professionally edited, and self-published, my first two books in the space of five years; yet the third book has dawdled. At times, I didn't touch it for months. I wonder why it's dragged its feet so much? When I ponder this question, I find myself looking at the self-reflection aspect of memoir. Not just that; it's the articulation of self into an organised line. For that to occur, a clear concept of self must be attained.  My sense of self was fragmented by trauma; which means that in order to finish the memoir, I needed to heal.  Coupled with that, for eight years, my home life was plagued with triggers that stole countless writing days from me. During this time I was also teaching dance, which – although it funded my writing education – was m

Life still feels fresh and new, as I settle into my new home. Physically, it was an agonising move. I'm still feeling the effects six weeks later. I've had to moderate my energy to a lethargic pace, which isn't easy when I'm excited about a new home and wanting to get everything unboxed and nailed up.  Being high-strung is pretty normal for me, which is why I need dance in my life; but at its extreme, high-strung becomes tendonitis. When it gets bad enough, enough gentle stretching can be aggravating. So for the last week I've been sitting around with a heat pack trying to limit my steps. I went for my first walk in six days today, and my knee was dicey after fifteen minutes. So I'm back in my chair with a heat pack for the rest of the day. This might sound like a delicious Saturday afternoon, but for me it's not easy.  My model of multidimensional consciousness shows us that when basic dimensions of consciousness like the physical and emotional dimensions

Eight years ago I started this blog with a post about my introduction to  apartment life . Now I'm standing on the cusp between two lives, as I prepare to move home again in ten day's time. Anyone familiar with my journey will know that living in my current home hasn't been easy. It has however been a succinct teacher, illuminating me to the most difficult aspects of my own nature; parts of me that had disappeared into the background as white noise, barely audible under the cacophony of the external dramas in my life. As the fallout from my second divorce slowly—too slowly—ebbed away, I began to realise that the angry situations invoked by my marriages were just tips of the tongues of angry flames that went way back in time. I was left with myself, intolerant and angry—triggered by the sounds around me.  Although it has been a difficult environment to live in, I feel like I've been through a major period of personal and creative development. When I moved here I was focu

This post is dedicated to the women who have helped me to step towards my potential. These women believed in me when I was unable to do it for myself. I try to pay it forward to my students and friends.   As I prepare my return to teaching in 2021, I'm pausing to reflect on how I came to step into the role in the first place. I always knew I would be a writer, but my role as teacher was a surprise to me. So how did it happen? Compared to many dancers I was a late bloomer, attending my first dance class at the age of twenty-five. A year or so later my teacher asked me to teach a class of beginner dancers. I was gobsmacked. Why on earth would she pick me to teach? I'd never taught anyone anything.  Although I didn't believe in myself, I did believe in my teacher. It wasn't the first time she had invited me to step out of my comfort zone. Twice each year she would run fabulously staged dance concerts. As well as dancing, I had been invited to read tarot at these concerts.

A break from blogging wasn't part of the plan for April. Screen burnout is a thing and I had it. I may still have it. But there are a few exciting things I need to talk about this week. This term of Majickal Bellydance includes choreography. I have enjoyed writing a new spiritual dance to share with the class. I have also revised an old favourite, one that makes me smile. I hope it makes the dancers of Seville smile too. I'm really pleased that class begins again this Thursday 19th April. Writers' group begins again at Seville Community House this Wednesday 18th April. This group is run by crime-fiction author Debra Marks. Debra will also be joining me at Seville Community House for an author talk on Sunday 29th April.  Together, we will be sharing our experience with self-publishing and starting a writing business. Bring along your questions and fears about self-publishing. We don't know everything, but we are well on our way and love to talk with interested w

Hi All 😀 As we make our descent toward the colder seasons I'm aware that part of me is looking forward to more time indoors being creative. I usually dread the cold of winter, but this year life is looking brighter. Creatively, there's a lot to do and it's getting easier to do it.  I'm better able to leave the past behind me and get on with my days. During the summer just gone I even managed to balance a term of dance classes with my writing life. Bellydance Classes Thursday night dance class has been a personal tradition since my early dance class days. It's a life affirming practice that helps to undo the hours spent sitting at computer and notebook. Majickal Bellydance is more than exercise, it's like a moving meditation. The benefits are spiritual as well as physical and mental. I'll be teaching a new term of classes at Seville Community house from April 19. Details HERE . On the topic of life balance: Due to anxiety and PTSD, I have had to

I am preparing for an afternoon of gentle, casual, lounge-worthy bellydance in a toasty warm and homey Healesville yoga studio.  The last six years of my dance journey has turned my attention toward the inner realms of the dance of life.    Your gift from the underworld of my experience is improved understanding of blocks that can distract energy away from otherwise well executed dance movements. Often these blocks exist on levels that are non-physical in origin; hence no amount of dance drills can loosen these energies until they are understood at their own level of reality.  I have found that it is not always possible or appropriate to remove physical blocks for various reasons. Dancers will work within the boundaries of their own body, gently coaxing energy into fluidty only as comfortable and safe. This means Majickal Bellydance is suitable for all levels of fitness. I have developed the Seven Circles Workshop to initiate awareness of the multidimensional experience of the da

Majickal Bellydance is resting, not forgotten.  For now I have a new obsession: Yoga. Yoga isn't new to me. As dance teachers we borrow many yoga poses or asanas, performing the movements as stretches for warming up and cooling down, rarely emphasising the breath practices or pranayama.  My yoga mat had lay mostly rolled into dusty storage for long enough to raise a child. My daughter now focussed firmly on her own burgeoning life and my last bellydance class for now at the end of 2015, I needed a brand new obsession. Having finally finished writing my first book I showed up still in writer's rapture to my friend and colleagues yoga class. I had taught bellydance at her beautiful yoga studio in the past, www.yarravalleyyogaschool.com, but had only attended a few yoga workshops. I had been struggling for several years with PTSD (Post-traumatic stress disorder), keeping mobile through my years of illness by tailoring my dance classes toward health and by habituating myself tow

Tight and slow with winter chill We were received into creation. Music strummed our lighted limbs. We were Venus and Mars. Earth centered our whirl and we warmed. Our hearts opened into ‘yes.’ Empty as space and full as eggs, Spinning chakras of a dance studio. Crying at the voice of the ‘call of the soul,’ Joyously answered. Creatures of earth en-souled. We remembered the big bang Back when we were stars, Sneezing planets into being. Orbits force spiraled energy, Like old dusters we spun away the junk, Opening our minds to catch the fractal light. He channeled stars and I could hear. Mercury spoke where language faltered. We became ourselves again, as light. Some were sick and wild with homecoming, Others danced their lifetimes of spinning. Spinning tops, laughing, falling, followed - A comets tail arced the room. White lights whirled above and below, Spinning colours of red, blue and violet, Scent of flowers, bread and even f