To Aposticise.

From Andrew Sullivan's discussion of his "interview" with Hugh Hewitt -- and the aftermath of hate mail:

[...] the Gospels tell us that on the cross itself, as Jesus' last words, he cried out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" His last words were of doubt, doubt that God was not there - the doubt these fanatics want to expunge from true faith.

I would never directly compare the interactions of people in raqs to the rich, and enriching*, chaos of religious obligation and belief. But I will talk about why I doubt almost everything that comes down the pike, when it comes to raqs shaquri -- especially historical information. And that's because almost everything is about the myths we tell, and the lies that make us feel better.

In another venue, I recently posted about a short film, a documentary of bravery and dance. I said, and meant, that it reminded me that, for many people, raqs shaquri, and the related forms, are works of healing as much as anything. We allow people to dance fully and completely, in ways that many other forms do not -- imagine being, say, 30 and starting to work at Ballet? It's powerful, a potent brew to change your entire world-view with, if it hooks you.
Yet we also allow, and sometimes encourage, people to personalize the dance. Because of the "mysterious background" which goes along with the "mysterious dance", because the dance's history is murky even amongst it's home environment, an environment not always happy to see dancing, it's easy to make a mark on it, to convince yourself that the mirage you see is the reality of the form. And it's not.

Not that I have a monopoly on the truth. But the all-too-common myth-as-fact that surrounds our form, the multitude of "origin stories" that no one ever bothers to document, and the insistence on "my truth" -- be it about the importance of Egyptian/Turkish/Lebanese style, or the "ATS is the best Tribal ever" commentary, make me tired and old. One can have respect for a form without being beholden to it.

Thus, I try my best to be the Doubting Thomas in the party, no matter the cost. To be the Apostate, the one no one's quite sure about. Because I cannot, and should not, say "this is true". That would be aligning myself with people and ideals I cannot believe in. Rather, I align myself with the seekers, the doubters, the Thomas of raqs shaquri, always looking for that next great kernel of truth to take home and polish.

Belief is not cheap. It costs. And if I'm going to believe in something, it must stand on stronger ground that my anger and frustration that the winds of style do not blow in a direction I care for. I must be able to prove, via a pattern very similar to the proving of Islamic hadiths, that what I say is not just my word, but the word of others of trustworthy character and thoughtfulness. Others must be able to follow the same road I have, and come to similar conclusions. In other words, the Scientific Hypothesis, the tool of doubters, everywhere, is my guide.

What I believe is unimportant. What I can prove, invaluable. Thus, I am, and will always be, an Apostate.