Conquering Addiction Through Dance Elizabeth Delancy

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Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations The Graduate School

2007 In God's Presence: Conquering Addiction Through Dance Elizabeth Delancy

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THE FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY

COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

IN GOD’S PRESENCE: CONQUERING ADDICTION THROUGH DANCE

ELIZABETH DELANCY

A Dissertation submitted to the Department of Interdisciplinary Humanities In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Awarded: Fall Semester, 2007

The members of the Committee approve the dissertation of Elizabeth Delancy defended on the 16th of October, 2007.

John O. Perpener, III Professor Directing Dissertation

Neil Jumonville Outside Committee Member

William Cloonan Committee Member Humanities Representative

Nancy Smith Fichter Committee Member

Tricia Henry Young Committee Member

Approved:

______David Johnson Head, Program in the Humanities

______Joseph Travis Dean, College of Arts and Science

The Office of Graduate Studies has verified and approved the above named committee members.

ii To Mom and Dad…. Thank you for your love and support. I love you.

iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I give a special thanks to Alexia L. Jones, and the women of Beracha, who showed me that dance is a triple-corded rope of faith, hope and survival upon which we hold. With gratitude, I acknowledge my committee: Dr. John O. Perpener (director), Dr. William Cloonan, Dr. Neil Jumonville, Dr. Nancy Smith Fichter, and Dr. Tricia Henry Young. I admire each of you greatly and thank you for your unique contributions to this dissertation. Thank you also to Dr. David Johnson, Chair of the Department of Interdisciplinary Humanities for your support. Undying thanks I give to my mentor, Dr. Beverly Barber, for continually motivating and encouraging me during this process. You are heaven-sent. Thank you, Dr. Juanita Williams for sharing your time, expertise, and wisdom. Special thanks to my family—nuclear and adopted—for your prayers and support. Mom, Dad, Bridgid, Dineé, Chip and Michelle, Lisa, Jo, Aurora, Erin, Janie, Louberta and Willa Jo, I love you all! And above all… thank you, Abba (God) for blessing and keeping me!

iv TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract vi

INTRODUCTION 1

CHAPTER ONE: LAYING THE FOUNDATION 11

CHAPTER TWO: DRUG USE AND THE AFRICAN-AMERICAN FEMALE 30

CHAPTER THREE: A PATH TO WHOLENESS 63

CONCLUSION 94

BIBLIOGRAPHY 106

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 119

ABSTRACT

Alexia L. Jones was in her early stages of recovery from an addiction to powder cocaine when she discovered the healing power of Christian-based dance. In 1995 Jones, a former professional dancer began using dance as a personal, physical expression of worship. During her private, daily process of prayer and praise and worship of God through dance, Jones learned that her dancing encouraged her sobriety. Her continued abstinence from drugs was a by product of her dancing which fostered spiritual, physiological and psychological healing. She credited dance, undergirded by her faith in God, as the tool that sustained her. The Beracha Dance Institute was born out of her revelatory experiences concerning the healing power of worshipful dance. Jones’ simple act of allowing other women to participate in her process of worship led to the inadvertent development of a therapeutic dance application that proved beneficial to women in recovery. The purpose of this paper is to provide an historical examination of founder/ director Alexia Jones’ use of Christian-based dance as a treatment for substance addiction through the Beracha Dance Institute. This study analyzes how Jones’ integrative process intuitively drew on the similar techniques and methodologies of clinical dance therapy and those of faith-based dance ministries. Jones’ work combined the transformative and restorative properties of both of these applications of dance. In addition, Jones’ work— and the sources it drew on—echo the healing dance rituals that have been used in traditional societies throughout the ages. Consequently, an historical analysis of her work necessitates looking at the foundations of—and the analogies between—the clinically therapeutic application of dance and the spiritually therapeutic application of dance, as well as their historical precedents.

INTRODUCTION

This study is an historical examination of founder/director Alexia Jones’ use of Christian-based dance as a treatment for substance addiction. Through the Beracha Dance Institute of Mothers in Crisis, Jones intuitively developed and used an approach to Christian dance therapy that reflected characteristics of traditional cultural healing dance, Christian sacred dance, and clinical dance therapy. Her program was largely successful in helping drug-dependent women achieve and maintain sobriety by ultimately shifting their reliance on drugs to a dependence on God. This study will examine these achievements. Additionally, this investigation will bring to light areas that weakened Jones’ method and limited her impact in the field of dance therapy as a treatment for drug addiction. The three areas of weakness were Jones’ minimal employment of dance technique, her reluctance to establish Beracha Dance Institute as an independent organization, and her inattention to documenting and publishing her work. In the conclusion of this study, I will discuss how these deficiencies affected Jones’ program and suggest how improving these aspects of her program could have bolstered her efforts. Alexia L. Jones, dancer and ordained minister of dance1, committed herself, through the Beracha Dance Institute of Mothers in Crisis, of Tallahassee, Florida, to helping women break the “vicious cycle of addiction” of which she had intimate knowledge. Jones grew up in Decatur, a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia. She had studied modern dance, ballet, and traditional African dance forms since the age of seven. Her dance teachers and the choreographers with whom Jones worked found her to be a precocious and sensitive youth; hence she was often cast in principal dance roles for the numerous concerts in which she performed throughout the Atlanta area. It was also in her native Georgia that she developed a fondness for marijuana at the age of 13. For Jones, drug usage was not the result of the need for mere amusement; rather it served as a

1 In most Protestant Christian churches, God’s call on the individual’s life to ministry must be recognized by both the aspirant and the church. Following a period of discernment during which the individual seeks clarity concerning his or her call, the church authorizes the individual to take on the office of ministry. Jones was called to use dance to interpret and share the Gospel, and serve God, the congregates and the community.

temporary escape from her problems. Initially, she was attempting to cope with a verbally abusive father. She found that the chemically induced euphoria softened the blow of excruciatingly harsh and rampant criticism. As she neared time for high school graduation in 1981, she longed to attend and study dance at Spelman College in Atlanta, Georgia. She then hoped to apply her dance training and education towards grassroots efforts in whichever African-American community she found herself after graduating. However, at her mother’s insistence, Jones applied for Florida State University’s Department of Dance, which ranked among the top three university dance programs in the United States. Jones was accepted into the Florida State University’s Department of Dance in 1981. Already frustrated at the prospect of devoting time to theoretical and practical dance pursuits in an environment not of her choosing, Jones’ marijuana use became both a comfort-inducing and rebellious act. Her feelings concerning Florida State University were further exacerbated by racially charged incidents that occurred in the dance department. Such racial antagonism was a part of the university’s cultural landscape and was largely fueled by the national political climate: In 1968, Richard Nixon used what had become known as his “Southern Strategy”—a plan to draw support from the more traditionally Democratic south by promising not to promote sweeping social changes in race relations…. The success of that strategy not only brought Nixon to the White House twice, but also placed Ronald Reagan there for two terms in the 1980s. Reagan’s 1980 campaign speech in Philadelphia, Mississippi stirred controversy when he told the crowd of his support for “states’ rights.” The phrase was long used as a code for resistance to black advances, sure to be well-received by Southern voters. (Suarez 2002) [unpaginated webpage]

Some professors and students were slow to adjust to the changing tide. African- American students were sometimes met with vehement resistance in the form of verbal affronts. In an interview, Jones recalled being called a “nigger” by a male student in her ballet class. Finding no satisfactory remedy to the affront, she found succor through her addiction. While at Florida State, she met and became friends with Rosalind Tompkins, a social work major, who also used marijuana with frequency. Tompkins, who became severely addicted to crack cocaine, would later establish Mothers in Crisis, Inc., in 1991.

Mothers in Crisis was established in Tallahassee, Florida as a support organization for substance addicted women. In the 1980s, Jones and Tompkins, drug buddies and best friends, regularly engaged in dubious behavior. It was not long before Jones’ reliance on the illicit substance affected her ability to fulfill her scholastic obligations (Alexia Jones, pers.comm). She was so involved in the drug culture at the university that she eventually flunked out of school and returned home to Georgia, in 1986, where her drug use continued to escalate and she began to favor powder cocaine. [C]hemical dependency can be viewed as a misguided attempt at self-healing. The difficulty for the addict is that substances provide false solutions. The basic disturbances remain and the user is propelled into the vicious cycle of addiction. Whatever the initial forces that bring a person to use drugs, once addiction takes hold its grip is relentless. (Rose 1995, 102)

The intensification of Jones’ drug use is typical. The Eastern Economic Journal conducted a study to determine whether marijuana is a gateway drug, one that leads to the use of other illicit drugs. The research provided evidence that “past marijuana use increases the probability of current cocaine use by twenty-nine percentage points” (DiSimone 1998) [unpaginated webpage]. In 2002, a study challenged the gateway argument for the purposes of reclassifying marijuana as a legal controlled substance. However, Will Glaspy, a special agent and spokesman for the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency explained, “Whether you want to use the gateway argument for the reason why marijuana is illegal or any other argument, the fact is, the majority of cocaine and heroin users first used marijuana before moving on to other drugs. And once you’ve taken that first step, it’s easier to take the second step” (Kirchheimer 2004) [unpaginated webpage]. As a functioning addict, Jones was able to work with several professional dance companies. However, whether touring nationally or dancing in lead roles for the Atlanta- based Jomandi Productions, her addiction dominated her daily existence. In an interview, Jones recalled her last professional performance. The show was Bessie Sings the Blues. She had asked the playwright/director to write her into the play. Having known Jones for over a period of seven years, he not only agreed, but also gave her a featured dancing role. The elation of starring in this well-attended production was still no match for a chemically induced high. Prior to the show, she snorted a significant amount of cocaine, smoked two marijuana cigarettes, and drank two beers. In the midst of performing the

role especially created for her, Jones, in a sequence of pirouettes, lost consciousness and fell to the floor. She was summarily fired. Jones managed to secure other work with touring dance companies. However, her tenure was always short-lived. She became known as a “flake”—one who could not be depended on to maintain her commitments. Having exhausted her dance prospects, she temporarily relocated to Nassau, Bahamas. There she supported herself by working as a cater-waiter in one of the island’s posh hotels. Although her address had changed, her compulsion had not. After living on the island for approximately one year, she eventually returned to Georgia. It was there that Jones finally hit rock bottom. She surpassed the point of being a functional addict. Unemployed and addicted to a powerful narcotic, Jones surrendered fully to powder cocaine. She lived on the fringes of society and sometimes, as she described, “like an animal” driven by instinct and cravings (Alexia Jones, pers. comm). Moreover, it was also during this turbulent time that Jones learned she was pregnant. In spite of her seemingly hopeless situation, it was Jones’ pregnancy that marked a turning point in her life. She was filled with fear, but also filled with determination. Terrified at the prospect of having damaged her unborn baby, she made a decision to do whatever was necessary to obtain and maintain sobriety, and to be a mother to her child. She never imagined that dance would play a role in her keeping her commitment to herself and her child. This study will explore Jones’ journey towards recovery through the use of dance and her subsequent development of her therapeutic dance process. It will also bring to light how her work is reflective of previously established approaches to healing dance— specifically healing dances of traditional societies, Christian dance as performed by dance ministries and movement choirs, and clinical dance therapies. The value of dance as a healing art or ritual, and the therapeutic value of Christian, faith-based dance have received scholarly attention by a number of authors (e.g. Richard Katz Boiling Energy, 1982; Anna Halprin, Dance as a Healing Art, 2000; Mike Samuels “Dance as a Healing Force,” 2000; Margaret Fisk Taylor A Time to Dance: Symbolic Movement in Worship, 1967). Jones’ work also deserves scholarly investigation. She created a Christian dance therapy program that was tailored to the needs of African-American women in

Tallahassee, Florida, who were recovering from substance addiction. Jones confronted the daunting complexity of these women’s lives through her healing work. She addressed the participants’ addictions and guided them through struggles that were directly and indirectly associated with their compulsions. Specifically, the accumulated circumstances in each of the women’s lives led to states of multiple marginalization. Not only did the majority of the women live in socially and/or economically deprived African-American neighborhoods, but most were also mothers who needed to reestablish themselves as trustworthy in the eyes of their children. Jones conscientiously worked to address these issues, in addition to the traumas or preexisting problems (e.g. abuse, mental disorders, and predispositions to addiction) which served as impetuses for drug use. Chapter One: Laying the Foundation provides a framework for the analysis of Alexia Jones’ instinctive use of Christian-based dance as a means of recovery from drug addiction. Jones’ work parallels aspects of traditional healing dance rituals, Christian sacred dance and clinical dance therapy; therefore, this chapter examines these three types of dance applications. Consideration is given to historical and non-Western healing dance rituals, specifically those of the Kung/Ju|’hoansi people of southern Africa. For the Kung, healing dances are community events that have been a part of daily existence for centuries, and have been responsible for encouraging belief in the supernatural, maintaining social order, and of course, providing healing for the afflicted. In Boiling Energy (1982), anthropologist Richard Katz wrote, “For the Kung, healing deals with the whole person, in all aspects and situations…physical, psychological, emotional, social, and spiritual…” (54). Chapter One also investigates Christian sacred dance. Margaret Fisk Taylor, contemporary sacred dance pioneer and author of A Time to Dance: Symbolic Movement in Worship (1967) wrote that Christian dance is not “art for art’s sake” (I). Although Taylor’s A Time to Dance is primarily concerned with dance as symbolic, rhythmic movement that enhances the experience of worship of God in the church, her exploration of the impact of Christian sacred dance on congregations who experience it further

underscores the therapeutic power of dance. Hence, this chapter examines the kinetic and emotional effects symbolic dance can have on worshippers. In addition, Chapter One examines some methods of clinical dance therapy—as defined by the American Dance Therapy Association (est. 1966), and as practiced by notable dance therapy practitioners, such as Mary Starks Whitehouse and Anna Halprin. Though the early practitioners entered into the use of dance as a therapy based on their personal understanding of the healing potential of dance, most later sought out and attached their work to existing psychological frameworks. Carl G. Jung’s approach to psychotherapy was particularly suitable because of the value he placed on “authentic movement”—that which accurately depicted the unconscious mind. Jungian therapists and practitioners who formulated therapies based on other psychoanalytical frameworks have demonstrated the ability to use dance cathartically, as well as to encourage positive emotional changes (Chodorow 1991, 41-42). Each approach to healing dance has distinctive characteristics. However, the similitude of each is also apparent. Specifically, each form—the traditional healing dances of the Kung, Christian sacred dance, and dance therapy is interested in affirming or restoring wholeness. This concept of wholeness can take the form of reunifying an individual with his community as well as restoring harmony between the mind, body, and spirit. “Dance [has] a highly integrative nature” (Halprin 2000, 17). Chapter Two: Drug Use and the African-American Female. Because Jones’ work was done in Tallahassee, this chapter includes an overview of the city’s social environment. This synopsis looks at the changes that occurred in the city beginning in the Civil Rights era through to the early 2000s. The impact that crack cocaine had on the city is also highlighted. This overview is particularly important because most of the women who were interviewed for the purposes of examining the impact of Jones’ work are natives of Tallahassee. This chapter also addresses some of the historical reasons that African-American women fall prey to drug addiction. The majority of the women who sought support through Beracha were African-Americans addicted to crack—a smokeable form of cocaine. A brief analysis of the 1980s crack cocaine epidemic highlights the confluence of factors that made Jones’ clients predisposed to drug use. In many instances, the women were living with preexisting conditions such as sexual or

emotional abuse. The increasing availability of drugs in the community where they lived compounded their vulnerability to addictive behavior. Once the women were addicted, there were further complications due to their resultant behavior. Through her work Jones had to navigate a veritable minefield of physiological, psychological and spiritual issues that surrounded the drug dependence of her clients. Rather than eradicating psychological pain, drugs provided a type of reprieve. On the other side of addiction, those determined to maintain their sobriety had to overcome their cravings, and face the demons that tormented them prior to their addictions. Chapter Three: A Path to Wholeness discusses Jones’ personal use of Christian dance as a tool for recovery from her addiction to powder cocaine. Further, this chapter chronicles her subsequent and synchronous development of Beracha and the therapeutic model that she would use to help the similarly afflicted women to break the cycle of substance abuse. This chapter carefully examines Jones’ integrative process that included prayer and a dance class—warm-up, across-the-floor movement progressions and structured and free-form improvisational dance. Additionally, her healing model included the development of choreography that was generated through the women’s contributions. Participation in the collaborative effort was crucial to therapy. However, an individual’s inability to contribute to the collaborative effort did not thwart the healing process. Rather, it merely provided Jones a marker with which she could gauge an individual’s passage towards wholeness. (The clients’ ability to resist relapse, improved self-esteem and physical conditioning, and an ability to adhere to Christian principles were also indicators of positive change.) Two works, Hope and Journey, were created through the collaborative exploration of Jones and her dancers. Chapter Three examines the choreographic process of these works and evaluates the communicative effect of their movement and dance vocabulary. The analysis of the movement vocabulary and choreographic structural elements will provide insights into how the participants’ execution of dance/movement in class and in performance affects them physiologically, psychologically, and spiritually. The Conclusion of the study offers suggestions on how Jones could further expand her healing dance model, and begin to codify her approach. In 2005, she returned to Georgia. Since then, she has been working under contract with a last chance program

for at-risk adolescents2. The program directors have seen the value of her therapeutic dance process. Jones is a pathfinder who parlayed her personal crisis and recovery into a program tailored to the needs of African-American women in recovery. Her grassroots efforts instinctively captured the essence of traditional approaches such as the Kung healing dances because of her focus on spirit-based healing and community building. Her work is akin to the work done in Christian dance ministries because it is concerned with encouraging spiritual growth among Beracha participants, as well as audiences and congregations. Jones’ methods are as significant as the work of notable dance therapy practitioners in that she, too, has used dance to heal and transform the lives of others. Her foundational work is unique, and it deserves attention in the field of healing dance because it represented a departure from other more familiar dance therapies and modalities of dance. In Christian arenas, dance encourages faith and serves to inspire the congregations. However, most dance ministries, particularly in African-American churches do not create works that purposefully address personal issues within the Church body. In secular performance environments dance, however moving and cathartic for the choreographers and/or dancers, is primarily intended to entertain. Jones’ use of Christian dance was designed as a drug rehabilitation tool aimed at challenging the perceived hopelessness that accompanied addiction in the lives of the Beracha participants. Her work yielded desirable results—like individuals’ maintenance of sobriety, and group retention and/or continued participation as a positive option to drug- related behavior. Further, her program was developed for a specific marginalized community—economically challenged, African-American mothers who were addicted to illicit substances. Methodology This study employs methods of historiography, gender, racial and cultural studies, and dance analysis. It analyzes historical information on the three different, but related applications of dance mentioned earlier: ritual/sacred healing dance, Christian dance

2 The program is tailored to the educational and psychotherapeutic needs of youth offenders who have been identified as having emotional problems which contribute to their behaviors. The program employs conventional group therapy, group dance therapy, and mentoring.

ministry, and dance therapy. The existing literature in these areas helped provide a perspectival framework for this study of Jones’ work with the Beracha Dance Institute. For example, author Veta Goler points out the daunting challenges that have faced black women in general. Throughout the history of this country, black women have been relegated to positions of lowest status in American society. Economically, politically, and socially African-American women have been among the most disempowered citizens.… Often black women have not been perceived but have been overlooked and ignored…. (Goler 1997, 4)

This invisiblization by society has taken a heavy toll on the African-American female psyche, particularly among those who were raised in environments that inadequately prepared them to survive in a hostile, intolerant, racist, and sexist environment. Preexisting risk factors for drug abuse can result in a lethal combination when joined with other disempowering factors that affect the lives of African-American women. The use of illicit drugs and the abuse of prescription drugs can temporarily anesthetize and insulate these women who have been affected by the multiplicity of denigrating factors in their environments. However, Jones helped her clients realize that there was a disjuncture in their perceptions of the artificial states of drug-induced euphoria and the demeaning realities of their daily lives. This study of Jones’ therapeutic application of dance examines the complex racial and cultural contexts that have shaped the lives of the women with whom she worked. By becoming aware of the common elements that have a continuing impact on African- American women (i.e. socio-economic factors, societal disenfranchisement, personal loss, physical, verbal, or sexual abuse), the reader will gain a clearer understanding of Jones’ approach and the correlation her method had to the other examined applications of dance. The approach used in analyzing Alexia Jones’ dances gives consideration to the movement, and the process used to create the dance phrases. In addition, this approach takes into account Jones’ subject matter and chosen formats. Also germane to this manner of evaluation are the social and historical contexts in which her dances were created (Adshead 1988, 60-87). Through dance analysis I explored the structure and consequent effectiveness of Jones’ process of therapeutic dance. This was accomplished

through first-hand observations and viewing videos of classes, workshop sessions, and group performances, as well as Jones’ solo performances. The analysis began with an assessment of elements external to the perceived therapeutic aspects of Jones’ movement/choreography. This examination was crucial in determining whether or not the movement vocabulary and choreographic structure of the works enabled the dancers to communicate discernible messages. Jones’ body of work did not emphasize virtuosic dance nor did it rely on codified dance technique (e.g. ballet, traditional African dance, or contemporary dance), or skilled dancers. Therefore, the studio and performance work was examined from the perspective of the dancers’ abilities to clearly illustrate Jones’ intent within the confines of the movement that they were given or created. Using Margaret Fisk Taylor’s guidelines—in A Time to Dance: Symbolic Movement in Worship—for creating dance worship compositions, I measured Jones’ ability to create meaningful communicative works. I used Taylor’s guidelines as a model of evaluation because her writing was centered on creating evocative works that did not rely on the use of virtuosic movement. In short, I ascertained that Jones’ choreography—created for public viewing—had a clear “statement (in movement) of a central theme, a restatement (repetition with some variation or contrast)…an emerging second statement that relates to the original statement but leads into a new depth, new intensity or emphasis for its climax…[and] a clear vocabulary of meaningful movements” (16-17). A portion of this examination included measuring the perceived meaningfulness of the works by observing audience members’ reactions—verbal and nonverbal vocalizations and emotional and physical responses to Jones’ choreography and the dancers’ efforts. The observers were not interviewed because my interest was in their immediate reactions to the work(s) they experienced. It was determined that observers did exhibit somatic and emotional responses. They also provided feedback in the form of verbal statements and other audible sounds indicating their shared kinetic responses. Historiography, gender, cultural and racial studies, and dance analysis were used to provide a balanced picture of crucial aspects surrounding Jones’ work—her personal history as it related to Beracha, as well as the many aspects of recovery with which she had to contend in order to effectively support her clients’ goals of life-long sobriety, an improved quality of life, and spiritual growth. Through this multifaceted analysis, it was

determined that Jones’ grassroots work in the field of drug rehabilitation was able to sufficiently and meaningfully address the physiological, psychological and spiritual needs of the Beracha members.

CHAPTER ONE

LAYING THE FOUNDATION

In developing an integrative process of using Christian-based dance as a tool for drug rehabilitation, Alexia L. Jones’ intuitively drew on preexisting approaches to healing dance. Her work in Tallahassee, Florida with African-American women in recovery from substance addiction reflected techniques and methodologies of clinical dance therapy and those of faith-based Christian dance ministries. Her process also echoed healing dance rituals that have been used in traditional societies throughout the ages. Consequently, in this chapter I have chosen to discuss three divergent contexts where dance is used for its restorative and transformative powers. This chapter begins with an exploration of Kung’s/Ju|’hoansi’s abiding tradition of healing dances which are at once deeply religious and social practices. An examination of religious Christian dance follows and includes a discussion of the history of, opposition to, and transformation of the form as well as contemporary interpretations of the form. This is followed by a discussion of the theoretical foundation of dance therapy, beginning with the work of Carl Jung and extending to those who were influenced by him or whose work illustrates some of the principles he articulated. My investigations have indicated that these dance practices share a number of important characteristics that point toward the underlying structures of dance’s healing powers. The dependence on community is one such recurring feature. As evidenced in the study of the aforementioned healing applications of dance, community can be defined as a group of people who share a common belief, goal or way of life. It can also mean an individual who is communing with an omnipotent presence. The understanding of the usefulness of dance in facilitating and/or imparting wholeness is also a foundational element common to the aforementioned practices of dance. Wholeness translates into the physical healing of afflictions, and the restoration of internal harmony—aligning the psyche, the spirit and the body. An exploration of these characteristics and the

philosophical underpinnings that shape them follows the examination of how each dance form engenders healing. Curt Sachs, anthropologist and early 20th century dance historian, suggests that dance is cathartic—therapeutic, energizing, invigorating—engaging the body, mind and spirit. [Through dance] [r]epressed powers are loosed and seek free expression; an innate sense of rhythm orders them into lively harmony…the dancer gives himself over to the supreme delight of play…gives himself over to the exhilaration, which carries him away from the monotony of everyday life, from palpable reality, from the sober facts of his existence—where imagination, fancy, and vision waken and become creative.” (Sachs 1937, 3-4)

The Kung/Ju|’hoansi, a hunter-gatherer society that lives in the Kalahari Desert of southern Africa, demonstrate that dance is holistically beneficial in that they have performed healing dances for centuries. In Boiling Energy: Community Healing among the Kalahari Kung (1982) anthropologist Richard Katz wrote: For the Kung, healing is more than curing, more than the application of medicine. Healing seeks to establish health and growth on physical, psychological, social and spiritual levels; it involves work in the individual, the group and the surrounding environment and cosmos. Healing pervades Kung culture, as a fundamental integrating and enhancing force. The culture’s emphasis on sharing and egalitarianism, its vital life of the spirit and strong community, are expressed in and supported by the healing tradition. The central event in this tradition is the all night healing dance. (34)

Healing dances are a way of life (Katz 1982, 34; Katz, Biesele and St. Denis, 1997, xiii) and are believed to have been responsible for encouraging the belief in the supernatural, maintaining social order, and of course, providing healing for the afflicted. The tradition of the healing rituals began long before European and Western medicines were available. Dependence on the healers was absolute. Many of the Kung had access to European and Western medicines by the 1970s and were accepting of its benefits. “European medicine is just as good as our own num (n|om),” said a traditional healer in an interview with Richard Katz. He continued, “…I would take European medicine. I would take it in the morning and be up in the evening. And for some things if I didn’t take it, I might die” (Katz 1982, 220). N|om is a divine substance or force (Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, xiii).

Although viewed as beneficial in the healing of somatic illnesses like tuberculosis and malaria, medical clinics and their cures have not supplanted the Kung/Ju|’hoansi dependence on healing dance. During the time of Katz’s first writing Boiling Energy (1982) and his second collaborative research effort Healing Makes Our Hearts Happy (1997) the healing dances were viewed as the primary curative and preventative courses. “Most often dances are held because people want to sing and dance together, as part of their continuing effort to prevent incipient sickness, which they believe resides in everyone, from becoming severe and manifest…” (Katz 1982, 36). In the event medical treatment had been sought, the rituals were also the definitive final recourse when medical remedies proved ineffective or were nonexistent. Because of ecological and economic pressures, the Kung/Ju|’hoansi have had to adapt their lifestyles. Over a period of approximately twenty years (1968-1989), anthropologist Katz observed that the Kung/Ju|’hoansi found it increasingly necessary to replace “their extensive economy of hunting and gathering which requires a large land area, with more intensive economies”—like maintaining domestic livestock and growing agricultural produce on a small scale so they can continue to “live on a land-base that is dwindling” (xiii). Although their traditional cultural practices continue to change, they hold fast to the value they place on healing dance and communal balance. The Kung/Ju|’hoansi are self-governed via group consensus, and each person is allowed a voice (Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, xiii; Univ. of Conn. 2003). Even though their method of government is effective, conflicts can arise. Healing dances can play an important role in maintaining harmony within the village by providing a “manageable release of hostility and an increased solidarity” (Katz 1982, 34-36). Two families from different camps are in conflict… During a healing dance attended by the two families along with the rest of the camps, the tensions subside…. After spending the night in the intense intimacy of the healing dance, the people…speak of how good it is to be together. (54-55)

Anthropological study suggests that dances observed in the late 1960s, like the one described above, addressed cross-camp healings—social and otherwise, during which separate camps were brought together. Dances observed two decades later were more focused on the needs within individual camps (Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, 103).

Regardless of the breadth of the healing dances, they continue to address a myriad of issues. [T]he Ju|’hoansi don’t waste time asking questions about the specific purpose of a dance or whether a dance causes a certain effect…their tolerance for ambiguity and paradox prevents them from making causal connections that in the end are beyond human capacity to determine. …[T]hey “just dance,” and in that passionate and committed activity of the whole, they do their work of community healing. (134)

Anthropologist Richard Katz recorded the Kung’s sentiment that whether physical, mental or social healing is desired, “Being at a dance makes our hearts happy” (Katz 1982, 35; Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, 115). A mix of excitement, joy and power permeate the atmosphere of the healing dance. This electricity, or healing power, is based on n|om, “a spiritual substance or energy residing in the bellies of the men and women who have been taught to activate it” (Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, xiii). Dancing vigorously and singing passionately can cause n|om to boil. Activated, it travels up the spine and out to the fingers where it may be released for healing through the laying on of hands. It is during this process that the healer is said to experience an altered or enhanced consciousness, !aia (kia) (Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, 103; Katz 1982, 95). In this altered state, a healer embarks on a perilous journey which places him (or her) before an audience of gods. Acting as his community’s representative, he entreats the deities in order to obtain healing for the sick. One healer described the often painful sensation of kia: “[It] explodes and throws me up in the air, and I enter heaven and then fall down (Katz 1982, 44).” The intensity of the community’s participation in the dance, whether focused singing and dancing or peripheral involvement, can sometimes determine the level at which the healer experiences an altered state of consciousness. Although the intensity may vary, the healer’s willingness to endure physical pain in order to provide the community with healing seems to have benefits for all who have joined in the dance. For example, someone who has been clawed by a leopard and “given up for dead” is healed and recovers miraculously…. Someone who complains of “chest wheezing and coughing,” who is experiencing respiratory congestion from what in the West would be diagnosed as chronic emphysema, is healed and then is able to go about his day in a normal way. A woman described as “so weak she is dying,” is probably with advanced tuberculosis, receives intense healing and has a

little more strength the next day. A young woman comes to the dance for healing because her “milk is not coming properly” to her nursing baby. The next day her milk returns. Another woman receives healing at the dance because her lip has become increasingly infected and swollen. After several days, the swelling and infection subside. A healing dance is held for a young healer who complains of “tired blood” and shows signs of great physical and psychological fatigue. At the dance he regains his strength, in part through his own dancing and healing…. (Katz 1982, 54-55)

The Kung/Ju|’hoansi believe the healing dance brings restoration to the physically and psychologically distressed, and to discordant communities. Yet, it is the shared belief in the healing power of spiritual energy that is accessed through dancing (drumming and singing), that gives these communal events substance, and produces favorable outcomes (33-36). The favorable outcomes include the opportunity “…to contact the gods and seek their protection…” as well as fulfill “…their wish to have an evening of enjoyment and companionship” (36). Like the Kung’s healing dances, Christian symbolic movement and dance ministry have ancient roots, and are motivated by a shared belief in the supernatural. In the Hebrew tradition, sacred dance served as a medium between God and humanity. Although the use of dance was not exclusively couched in sacred contexts, Old Testament biblical scriptures allude to several accounts of dance used as celebratory worship ( e.g. Exodus 15: 20-21; 1 Samuel 18:6-7; 2 Samuel 6:14, 16; 1 Kings 18:26; 1 Chronicles 16:31). An Old Testament account depicting the liberal integration of celebratory and worshipful dance is the passage about King David. “So David went down and brought up the ark of God from the House of Obed-Edom to the City of David with rejoicing…. [He] danced before the Lord with all his might…leaping and dancing…” (2 Sam. 6:12-16 New International Version). The intensity of David’s dancing caused his linen ephod to fall off; however, he continued with vigor, unabashedly worshipping God. Researchers of early Christian dance surmise that the presence of dance in the New Testament demonstrates that the Jewish followers of Christ held fast to their Hebrew tradition of dance as an expression of worship and celebration. According to Lucinda Coleman, researcher on dance in the church, “Christians were accustomed to celebrating in dance at worship and at festivals” (Coleman 1995) [unpaginated web

page]. However, just as some of the early Christians had converted from Judaism, a number of new believers were former devotees of other religions. Dance was a common practice at celebratory feasts, yet it could be decidedly orgiastic in character, particularly those of Dionysian tradition. The Apostle Paul, warned the Christian converts of Corinth, Greece not to repeat the same mistakes as Old Testament Israelites. He wrote: “Now these things occurred as examples to keep us from setting our hearts on evil things as they did. Do not be idolaters, as some of them were; as it is written: ‘The people sat down to eat and drink and got up to indulge in pagan revelry.’ We should not commit sexual immorality, as some of them did…” (1 Cor. 10:6-8 NIV). According to historian Fr. Ronald Gagne, the Church continued to walk a fine line between encouraging dance as a part of worship and discouraging “pagan cultic amusement” (Gagne, Kane, and VerEecke 1984, 35). About the Church’s wavering opinion concerning dance, Lucinda Coleman wrote:

In the late fourth century, Ambrose (AD 340-397), Bishop of Milan, tried to clarify the values and dangers of sacred dance by emphasizing the spiritual. ‘The Lord bids us dance, not merely with the circling movements of the body, but with pious faith in him’ [Adams 1990:18]. He saw dance as spiritual applause and did not rule it out of the church.... However, other leaders in the church began to voice their opposition to the use of dance. John Chrysostom (AD 345- 407), in speaking of Herodias’ daughter, commented that ‘where dancing is, there is the evil one’ [Gagne 1984:50]. Caesarius of Arles (AD 470-542) condemned dance at the vigils of saints, calling it a ‘most sordid and disgraceful act’ [Gagne 1984:51]. (Coleman 1995) [unpaginated web page]

The conflict concerning dance in the church has continued in one form or another. In 1999, Charles Chumley expressed his opposition in his article, “The Christian and the Dance.” He wrote, “The dance belongs to the world; the Christian belongs to Christ. This means that if you dance, you do so not as a Christian but as one who has turned his back on Christ. You dance not to the glory of God, but to your own shame and to the reproach of his holy name” (Chumley 1999) [unpaginated webpage]. In spite of prevailing opposition to dance in the church, many believers of Christian doctrine maintain that dance has always been an integral part of worship, as commanded by God, according to the Bible. In the Old Testament, Psalm 150: 4 instructs worshipers to “praise him with the tambourine and dancing;” and in the book of Ecclesiastes believers

are taught that “there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven… a time to heal…a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:1-4 NIV). In the twentieth century, sacred dance experienced a slow resurgence and was embraced by those eager to restore dance to its fully integrated role in worship and celebration. Dancing—in the form of highly choreographed dramatic presentations, or as ecstatic or spontaneous movement—provided worshipers an opportunity to express their adoration for God with their whole being. Evelyn Underhill, the author of Worship (1937), wrote: Man…responds to [God] best not by a simple movement of the mind; but by a rich and complex action, in which his whole nature is concerned…. He is framed for an existence which includes not only thought and speech, but gesture and manual action; and when he turns Godward, his life here will not be fully representative of his nature, nor will his act of worship be complete, unless all these forms of expression find a place in it. His religious action must be social, as well as personal; rhythmic and ceremonial, as well as interior and free. It must link every sense with that element of his being which transcends and co-ordinates sense, so that the whole of his nature plays its part in his total response to the Unseen. Therefore those artistic creations, those musical sounds and rhythmic movements which so deeply satisfy the human need for the expressive action, must all come in.... (23)

Margaret Fisk Taylor, author of A Time to Dance: Symbolic Movement in Worship (1967), certainly ascribes to the belief that dance effectively facilitates the worship of God in the church. Her book essentially serves as a “how-to” manual for groups desiring to use movement as worship. According to Taylor, Christian symbolic movement is that which occurs in a church setting, and is designed to be observed. She indicates that there have been many descriptors for groups that use movement to interpret religious messages (e.g. sacred dance choir, creative movement choir, dance choir). Since the publication of Taylor’s study of symbolic, movement-based worship, the form has given way to Christian dance ministry, and is no longer specifically designed for presentation in church edifices. Dance ministries are dance companies or groups whose members refer to themselves as ministers of the gospel who, like the symbolic choir participants of Taylor’s era, express their faith through dance (15). Some groups, like Ballet Magnificat, employ codified movement techniques like ballet. Other groups use modern/postmodern dance to convey their messages, and may also

incorporate virtuosic movement. Ballet Magnificat is the self-proclaimed “world’s premier Christian ballet company.” Founder/artistic director, Kathy Thibodeaux’s expressed desire is to “present the good news of Jesus Christ to the whole world” through the vehicle of dance. In addition, it is Thibodeaux’s mission to “reclaim the arts for the church” (Thibodeaux and Thibodeaux) [unpaginated web page]. Ballet Magnificat is representative of Christian dance ministries that believe the dance can be God-centered, soundly choreographed and executed with exceptional skill. The use of virtuosic movement is a departure from Taylor’s emphasis on the importance of simplicity. She indicated that attention to this idea would benefit the dancers as well as the congregations which would be able to “…imagine themselves doing what the choir members [were] doing” (15). Although more contemporary Christian dance groups with skilled dancers may incorporate complex movement in their choreography (e.g. Springs Dance Company est. 1979; Ballet Magnificat est. 1986; Praise in Motion est. 1992) these groups are motivated by the same principles as are the symbolic movement choirs and groups that utilize more pedestrian movement. First is the emphasis on the spirit and ascension. Movement expressions are primarily executed with an upward or heavenward emphasis. There is an evident expression, particularly in worshipful dance, of the desire to be liberated from the physical body and earthly realm and to dwell as pure in spirit in the heavens. Hence the dancer, with clear intent, lifts his or her focus and uses a physical posture that encourages the congregation to concentrate on God and not on the dancing body. In the Dancing video series program “Lord of the Dance,” Professor Diane Apostolos-Cappadona of the Liberal Arts Program at Georgetown University also noted the significant use of an elevated foot, which requires the heel to lift so that the body weight is on the ball of the foot (demi pointe) or on the tips of the toes (en pointe).3 The use of a lifted posture has spiritual and psychological implications (Taylor 1967, 8). In her essay, “A Modern Dancer’s Primer for Action,” famed American modern dancer and choreographer Martha Graham wrote, “Posture is dynamic, not static. It is a self-portrait of being. There is only one law of posture I have

3 In European and Euro-American Christian culture, God dwells above, or in heaven. Ballet particularly reinforces this idea through ethereal movement and a lifted posture. In African culture, traditional movement is more grounded because God is connected to the earth.

been able to discover—a perpendicular line connecting heaven and earth” (quoted in Taylor 181). A second common thread between simple and “trained” expressions is in the groups’ abilities to establish empathic bonds uniting themselves with their audiences or congregations in a shared experience of worship that engages the metaphysical heart (Gagne, Kane, and VerEecke 1984, 14; Taylor, 1967, 16). Because symbolic movement and dance ministry choreography are usually designed to be observed, the dancers are charged with illustrating religious concepts in order to assist their audiences or congregations in acts of worship (Taylor 1967, 2). The observers become “vicarious participants” with the dancers (9). The worshipers in the congregation are drawn unconsciously into identifying themselves with the interpreters. As Margaret Applegarth wrote spontaneously after observing a symbolic movement choir for the first time, she saw “true grace and self-forgetfulness” which had a re-creative effect on the worshipers “in lifting our spirits straight out of our bodies and then adjusting them back into us again as we too joined in longing for a similar grace and a similar reverence. I know that, as for myself, I felt an overwhelming joy! (9)

Taylor wrote about the shared kinesthetic response generated through observation: The universal language of symbolic movement is one of the rare religious arts which finds response in all who witness it, from the oldest to the youngest, the most spiritually sensitive to the seemingly insensitive, the most vigorous to those in need of health. The experience of religious insight that the congregation feels in the interpretations of a symbolic dance choir has spiritual reality which draws everyone together into a spiritual union.… (10)

The impetus for a shared kinetic response is the dancer’s expression of his sincere relationship with God. Accuracy of expression of the inner person, or the inner life, opens the door to intensely spiritual and therapeutic experiences for the dancers and the respective congregations. In his examination of sacred Christian dance from a Catholic perspective, Fr. Robert VerEecke wrote: …[W]e refer to all those movements, gestures, and rhythmic expressions of the body that are not merely functional…. They are the moments in liturgy which use the symbolic language of the non-verbal to cry out on behalf of the whole community, to express a depth of human experience that can not be spoken in words. Moments of sorrow, anguish, of faith-filled joy and ecstasy…are given life and liveliness through the body.… (Gagne, Kane and VerEecke 1984, 138)

Ultimately if Christian dance, from symbolic to virtuosic, is to be effective, it must be able to rouse the hearts of the dancers and the observers—giving way to healing. In Stretch Out Your Hand: Exploring Healing Prayer (1990), the authors, Tilda Norberg and Robert D. Webber, explained Christian healing. [It] is a process that involves the totality of our being—body, mind, emotion, spirit, and our social context—and that directs us towards becoming the person God is calling us to be at every stage of our living and our dying. Whenever we are truly open to God, some kind of healing takes place because God yearns to bring us to wholeness. Through prayer and the laying on of hands, through confession, anointing, the sacraments, and other means of grace, Jesus meets us in our brokenness and pain and there loves, transforms…and heals. (15)

Dance, “[an]other means of grace,” can serve as a conduit through which healing is sought and transferred. In her article “Why Do We Dance?” (1991), Kathryn Mihelick, published writer on sacred dance wrote, “We dance because there is a special communication that exists on a non-verbal level: because we are created not only with intellect, but also with spirit and emotion—with heart. The non-verbal language of movement speaks to the heart and speaks from the heart, where we can recognize the presence of God” (Mihelick 1991) [unpaginated web page]. Accessing the nonverbal level of communication through dance “…empowers us to overcome the enemies of our wholeness” (Chester 2000, 5). Through expressive physical action, dancers attempt to expound on Biblical principles (e.g. “For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power (to live constructively), and of love (to live sacrificially) and of a sound mind (to live reasonably)”) that address modern problems (i.e. depression, loneliness, poverty, sickness, oppression, etc.) (Stoll 1996, 4). Using Christian doctrine as a springboard these dancers attempt to highlight solutions which are rooted in faith and belief in God’s ability to liberate. Hence, dance ministries, or movement choirs, strive to chip away at issues that create disintegration, thereby bridging the chasm between the reality of circumstances and the promises of God, and ultimately, between the believers and God, and between body and spirit. Similar to Christian dance expression, dance therapy is also interested in bridging gaps—establishing, or reestablishing congruence between the mind, the body and the spirit. There are varied approaches to dance therapy; for example, some therapies are attached to psychoanalytical frameworks (e.g. Jungian), others are largely intuitive (e.g.

Anna Halprin). Simply stated, wholeness is considered to be congruence of the mind, body and spirit or emotions. In the “Principles of Practical Psychotherapy” Jung wrote, that the goal of psychotherapy is to help the patient incorporate the separate “unconscious contents” of his or her psyche. The result of achieving this ultimate integration is “…the removal of the neurotic dissociation” (Jung 1954, 20). Jung also believed that movement is a means of giving form to the unconscious—dance/movement as active imagination (Chodorow 1991, 1, 41); he called his application of psychotherapeutic movement “authentic movement” (24). “Movement implies a process through which the symptoms of psyche can come to the surface and be viewed from a therapeutic standpoint” (McClary 2007, 155). Dance therapist and Jungian analyst Joan Chodorow “emphasize[s] the importance of movement as a means of communication, particularly unconscious or ‘authentic’ movement which emerges when the individual has a deep, self-sensing awareness—an attitude of ‘inner listening’” (29). Similarly, Jungian music psychotherapist Margareta Wärja described the evolution that occurs with music therapy. In “Sounds of Music through the Spiraling Path of Individuation: A Jungian Approach to Music Psychotherapy (1994),” she wrote: As the individual slowly lets go and surrenders to the process, trusting the music, and also the therapist, then the first steps toward healing have been taken. When this happens, the character of the music shifts. …[I]t comes from the depths of the being. This is called authentic music. It is an expression of the Self, and the experience is one of being moved. The music that touches the core of the person is an expression of the true Self—that essence which is innate and unique in each person. (78)

Wärja’s elucidation can be aptly applied to the process of Jungian dance therapy which yields “authentic movement.” Chodorow approaches the Jungian concept of dance/movement as active imagination by dividing it into two parts. First, she is concerned with the “body-psyche relationship,” and second she is interested in “the affects (i.e. emotions)” (Chodorow 1991, 41). [E]motion and dance are inseparable. Dance is motivated by expressive emotion. Emotion is the source out of which we dance, i.e., it energizes us. But dance also has an effect on our emotions. It changes them. Sometimes dance leads to

cathartic release; other times, dance seems to develop, refine and completely transform our emotional state. Dance therapy too, is about the body-psyche relationship and the affects. Whether working with a psychotic child who seems to live in a tiny, intense world of stylized emotional expression—or with a psychotic or neurotic adult whose body may reflect years of repressed or undeveloped emotional life; the dance therapist utilizes dance/movement and body experience toward expression, communication and transformation of emotion. (41-42)

Although predating Chodorow’s writings about dance therapy, pioneer Mary Starks Whitehouse’s work underscores the effectiveness of the use of dance in aligning the mind, body, and emotions. She describes a transformative occurrence in an individual therapy session: A woman stood alone in the center of the studio. It was her third or fourth appointment. We had been working very simply with stretching, bending, standing and walking. Her movement in general existed in a cloud over her head—the face and eyes nearly always turned up to the ceiling, the arms and hands repeatedly extended overhead, the weight lifted up on her toes, everything going up, nothing down, everything going out, nothing held. I suggested she clench her fists and bring them up from her sides in front of her. The first time, the hands closed but there was very little tension in the muscles of the arms, they still floated. The second time she waited longer and pulled harder. Very slowly the arms bent at the elbows, closing upward in front of her body. As the fists approached her face, her expression became one of intense sorrow and strain, and at the point of almost touching her own mouth and cheeks, the whole body turned and pitched downward onto the floor in a violent fall, and she burst into long sobs. A barrier had been pierced, a dam broken [sic], her body had pitched into feeling. (Chodorow 1991, 27)

Whitehouse’s client was conflicted. The woman’s initial movement was seemingly reflective of a body posture used in Christian sacred dance. However, there was not a clear intent in her movement. Even though her dance suggests that she were floating— perhaps carefree, it became clear that she was attempting to deny the heaviness of emotion that threatened to over take her. Whitehouse noted the woman’s lack of balance: “everything going up, nothing down, everything going out, nothing held.” She challenged her patient to create physical tension, which countered the patient’s weightlessness; first physically and then emotionally, her patient transcended a superficial state of being. Hence, harmony between the woman’s mind and body was

established. Based on Jung’s view of the goal of psychotherapy, Whitehouse’s patient was moving towards wholeness or ultimate integration (Jung 1954, 20). Another pioneer in the therapeutic use of dance, Anna Halprin, exemplifies practitioners who guide others to ultimate integration via methods that were developed intuitively out of personal experiences with the healing aspects of dance. Her initial foray into dance as a healing art began as an exploration of the emotions as meaningful subject matter. Hence, even though she believed movement was a means of delving into and reconnecting to one’s emotions she would not call her work “therapy.” Halprin was disillusioned with the mainstream modern dance of the mid-1900s (e.g. Martha Graham, Doris Humphreys) and longed to find authentic movement to counter what she perceived as a lack of individuality in modern dance. About dance designed for a proscenium space, Halprin once stated, “I don’t like the way ballet, modern, or even postmodern dance armors the body personality by abstracting feelings, content and physical movement. It becomes formalized art, feels distant from life, and doesn’t involve me. I can momentarily be entertained, excited, even elevated like anyone else that goes to dance performances, but it doesn’t last” (Ross 2002) [unpaginated web page]. Regarding the work that resulted as an exploration of what was meaningful, Halprin said, “You won’t believe this, but when I first started working in this new way, the fact that I was acknowledging emotional material was considered therapy, not dance. You could interpret emotion, but actually have your own, to express the truth of your own personal mythology and experiences, this was not considered dance art” (Wolf 2000) [unpaginated web page]. Halprin’s work shifted from the danced exploration and expression of emotions to dance as a healing art when she was diagnosed with cancer in 1972. At the time of her diagnosis, she was using imagery as a means of exploring the connection between how the mind functions in relation to the body. Within this “PsychoKinetic Visualization Process,” Halprin, as well as the students she directed, drew images that were generated by their unconscious minds, after which they physically expressed their images. The process was incomplete if the image was not danced. Halprin wrote about this process and her subsequent diagnosis:

I had drawn a round ball in my pelvic area, and had intellectualized that it was an embryo and romanticized that it was pointing the way to new beginnings. But some part of me was sure that this was nonsense, because I wouldn’t put the drawing into motion. That night, when my mind was quiet, I had intimations that the image I had drawn had something to tell me and that I was not listening. The next day I made an appointment with my doctor. I asked him to examine me precisely where I had drawn this round ball. He diagnosed cancer. (Halprin 1995, 65)

Halprin was intrigued as to how her mind could inform her of the growing malignancy. After she was diagnosed with cancer a second time, she more readily acknowledged the power of imagery. When I first drew myself, I made myself look “perfect.” I was young and brightly colored. My hair was blowing in the wind. I was the picture of health and vitality. I knew I couldn’t even begin to dance it; it just didn’t feel like me. I turned the paper over and furiously began to draw another image of myself. It was black and angular and angry and violent. I knew that this back-side image of me was the dance I had to do. When I did, I was overwhelmed by the release of rage and anger…. I danced until I was spent, and I collapsed and began to sob with great relief. Now I was ready to turn the picture over and dance the healing image of myself. As I danced this image, I imagined my breath was water and that my movements flowed through my body just as water would flow. I imagined the water was cleansing me. I had an image of water cascading over the mountains near my home, and that the water flowed through me and out to the endless vastness of the sea, taking with it my illness. I believe I was experiencing the forces of nature as they were imprinted onto my body, which gave me a deep sense of the real connection between my body and the world around me. The movements of this dance started soft and small and as I continued, I added sound. My witnesses [family members, colleagues and students]…reinforced these sounds, as the movements grew and grew, until my whole body was engaged in the image of cascading water. When I finished, I invited the witnesses to join me in the circle; I felt ready to return to my friends and family. (66-67)

Later, in an attempt to understand the symbolic language of the mind, and determine if it could be codified, she studied numerous student drawings; she concluded that the images were uniquely personal. If similarities existed, (e.g. scenes involving nature or the creatures therein) they were more a result of the students’ shared environment (e.g. the mountainous terrain and lush wooded surroundings). The meanings of similar images were as individuated as were the artists. However, Halprin noticed that underlying all of the illustrations was the consistent use of “polarities and

opposites” (66). For her group of students, these polarities and opposites were often expressed in terms of black or dark and white or bright; even Halprin, in the above quote, expressed in these terms when examining the fragmented and healed self-images. In decoding the language of imagery Halprin delineated the four step process that lead to the “Five Stages of Healing” (67). Both the steps and the stages are simultaneously explained, as there is an overlap. The first step and stage require the identification of the issue. This entails surrendering to the subconscious mind and drawing an image. Part of the identification is taking note of “the polarity between the ‘dark and light sides’” that Halprin found to be a part of every image (67). The second step and stage necessitate confrontation, or dancing the image. As aforementioned, the process is thwarted if the participant does not physically interpret the image. According to Halprin, the movement should not be stylized or influenced by any systems of codified movement (e.g. ballet, modern, or African techniques). Rather she encourages movement that is born out of the innate, expressive self. Hence, the resulting movement can possess a myriad of shapes and textures: “spectacular” and beautiful, and it can also be “grotesque, ugly, clumsy, funny, frightening and conflicted” (Halprin 2000, 23). The authentic danced expression of the drawing yields release—stage three. This marks the turning point of the transformative process. The third step and fourth stage is integration; or as Halprin wrote, “…finding some way of integrating the new changes in my body” (Halprin 1995, 67). According to Halprin, the new changes in her body were centered on the truth that she was no longer plagued by cancer. She needed to align her mind and body so that she could wholly embrace this reality; then, she also needed to reenter the world as this newly whole person. For Halprin this process was manifested through what she called “the water dance”—as was described in the above quote which detailed her dance of dark and light (67). About the water dance she recalled: Something happened in this dance that I can’t explain. I felt I had been on a mysterious journey to an ancient world. Time and place were suspended and I was in a timeless blue void. The experience left me trembling and purified. (67)

Halprin expressed the cathartic dance that was angry, angular and almost brutal allowed her to confront her illness and her feelings about being invaded by cancer. With mind,

body and spirit in synchronization, she used dance to force the malady to the surface. The water dance washed away both the disease and its effects on the mind and spirit; the result was restoration of not only her body, but also her peace. Once personal harmony is realized, the fourth step and final stage of assimilation is possible. This entails the reunification of one with his or her life and community— family, friends and environment (Ibid.). In her personal process, Halprin stated, “I felt ready to return to my family and friends” (Ibid.). Only after she had found wholeness within herself was she able to reenter life. Halprin’s inclusion of community as a necessary aspect of healing is also evident in the American Dance Therapy Association’s definition of dance therapy which identified “social integration of the individual” as an important outcome of therapy (American Dance Therapy Association) [unpaginated web page]. Halprin’s approach to dance was integral to her achieving her goal of healing, because it “operate[d] on many dimensions simultaneously” resulting in “attaining a state of emotional, mental, spiritual, and physical health” (Halprin 2000, 14-15). In Dance as a Healing Art: Returning to Health with Movement and Imagery (2000) she wrote, “…when connected with the life concerns and issues of the individual, the community and environment,” dance can be a tool that brings about healing (192-193). Marian Chace, dance therapy pioneer and founding member of the ADTA wrote, dance is “…a medium which belongs to every living person” (Chace 1993, 62). If then, there is a universal ownership of this expressive form, then the recurring themes evident in Kung healing dances, Christian sacred dance, and therapeutic dance, are not coincidental. In exploring the aspects of healing dance within the context of the aforementioned applications, the pursuit of wholeness—the integration of the mind, body and spirit, and community—and, the shared experience of dance, were significant. Moreover, these touchstones were interdependent. For the Kung, healing dances affirm their “social values of harmony, equality, and spiritual connectedness” (Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, 55). It can be said that the body is not only that of the individual, but also the community; an idea reminiscent of the Christian use of the term “body” in reference to the “body of Christ,” meaning the community of believers who follow the Christian doctrine.

For the Ju|’hoansi (Kung), health is a whole picture of right and correct relationships. They make no distinctions among their physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. The healing dance, where n|om is used, is their main method for treating sickness of all kinds. The dance brings the community together for its most profound spiritual journey…. [T]he healing dance reinforces the idea of the abundance of n|om for all who remain active in community with each other—as a spiritual energy, n|om exemplifies a renewable and available resource. Its structure is the same as the society itself; it foregrounds egalitarian relationships at the same time as it supports the emotions and well-being of the individual. The messages of egalitarian social support are carried back and forth among the Ju|’hoansi in many ways as they help each other to create understanding and community. Many of their ways of speaking to each other, including the way they dance with one another, underscore the vital need to make sure each individual is included and no one stands out above others in a way that will bring harm. (48)

Similarly, practitioners of Christian sacred dance are interested in the wholeness of the individual and community, or “body” of believers. However, this dual concept of wholeness cannot be achieved without God. The interpreters/dancers/ministers of Christian ideology are responsible for modeling “intense faith in a…personal and caring God” (Parrot and Warren 2003, 217). When Christian dance is examined in terms of its healing properties, it can be likened to healing prayer. In her article “Sacred Dance (1991),” Kathryn Mihelick wrote: “If prayer is the central core of life, then dance becomes prayer when we are expressing our relationship to God, to others and to all the world of matter and spirit, through movement originating from our deepest selves…” (2). Dance, within the context of worship and praise can also lead participants, and viewers, towards “personal transformation.” The goal is not only to reveal what is buried, but also to address the individual’s needs or issues through movement as physical prayer. As in prayer, the supplicant (dancer) communicates the need for healing; a response is given, and the healing is manifested through the dance. However, faith and the expectation that healing can be imparted rests at the core of the dance. Moreover, it is understood that the dancer is not the source for healing, but is the conduit. Mihelick wrote, “True dance draws its strength from the living flow of the universe…” (2). Movement is integrative, uniting body, mind and spirit. It is a way of helping us toward wholeness…. We pray that movement, the universal language be used to heal and integrate us as people of God. We use dance to communicate,

understand and bond us in friendship and love at a heartfelt level and at that level, come to a greater sensitivity of God’s presence—the Holy Spirit who gives us breath, life, and is, after all, the generator of all movement within us. It was once said to a congregation learning about liturgical dance, “So it is that when we learn to enter the life of faith with our bodies as well as our minds and voices, we will come to a new level of knowing and a greater sense of God’s gift of human wholeness.” (Mihelick 2003) [unpaginated webpage]

The holistic approach to wellness which seeks to draw on the spiritual nature of dance to bring healing and wholeness to self and community has been consistent part of the human existence. Numerous studies concerning the dances of antiquity (e.g. W.O.E. Oesterley’s The Sacred Dance (1923); Curt Sachs’ World History of the Dance (1937); Katz Boiling Energy (1982)) expound on the use of dance by ordinary men and women seeking to express “emotions and aspirations which were common to humanity” (Oesterley 1923, 33). At the crux of many of these dance rituals, whether the dances were “sacred” or “secular,” was the shared belief in divine forces, and the shared belief in the benefits of participating in dance as a community. Dance therapy pioneer Liljan Espenak, acknowledging that the cathartic and communicative nature of dance as practiced by her ancient predecessors, wrote, “In a certain sense, dance therapy can be considered a primitive technique, and it is precisely the ‘natural man’ …that we are trying to release…” (Espenak 1981, xii). She asserted that the ancient practitioners of communal dance, as well as contemporary people who use the art form as part of cultural expression, have engaged in healing dance at its best. Though the method may be more clinical than overtly communal in nature, practitioners use dance as therapy to guide patients to break through barriers. Destruction of the barriers yields harmony—congruence between the mind, spirit and body; further, it pierces isolation. Once a participant is aligned, he or she is better equipped to establish meaningful connections with others (Center for Health and Healing 2002) [unpaginated web page]. The notion of the “natural man” who is in harmony within and with out, is also present in Curt Sachs’ theory, suggested in World History of the Dance: the more “civilized” individuals become, the more departmentalized the self becomes. Dance, therefore, becomes a means of reestablishing primal oneness (Sachs 1937, 3); or as Halprin expressed, “the deep sense of the real connection between [one’s] body and the world around” (Halprin 1995, 67).

Each application of dance—Kung healing dances, dance therapy, and Christian sacred dance—strives to impart wholeness. Whether it is participatory or that which is designed to be observed, the dance is called on to heal by bridging the chasm between man and his community, between man and God, and man and his mind, body and spirit.

CHAPTER TWO

DRUG USE AND THE AFRICAN-AMERICAN FEMALE

Alexia Jones developed her model for the therapeutic use of Christian dance as a drug recovery tool in Tallahassee, Florida. This chapter provides an overview of the city’s environment and underscores the reasons why Jones chose to focus her efforts on the addicted African-American female population in this particular location. Of equal importance, this chapter addresses some of the historical reasons why African-American women fall prey to drug addiction. Accordingly, a brief analysis of the crack cocaine epidemic throughout the mid 1980s to the late 1990s establishes the framework to examine the impact of the widespread availability of drugs on African-American women. Because Jones’ program was designed for women, an examination of addiction of the African-American male is outside the scope of this investigation and is therefore excluded. Anecdotal accounts provided by Jones’ program participants offer a closer look at the different configurations of African-American female addiction to cocaine and/or its derivatives. The testimonials included show that pinning down a specific and common reason for cocaine/crack cocaine addiction is difficult because in this study each woman’s life experience is different. However, these women were linked generally by their feelings of powerlessness and/or inadequacy before their addictions, their need to alter reality by creating artificial respites from the emotional burdens they shouldered, and an overwhelming desire to break free from the wholly destructive cycle of addiction. Once all of the women were in the throes of addiction to rock and/or powder cocaine and other drugs, they became part of a subculture. Freeing themselves required stringent disassociation with the people who continued to use drugs and the places affiliated with this behavior. For example, the Top Flite Club, located in the Bond Community of Tallahassee, was a common haunt for a lot of these women in the late 1990s and early 2000s. (The Bond Community is located south of downtown. It is bordered by Gaines Street on the north, Florida A&M University on the east, Orange Avenue on the south,

30 and Lake Bradford on the west.) Although they did not use drugs in this establishment, it was part of “the life”–drinking and dancing until the club closed for the evening, acquiring drugs and then binge using until the supply ran out. Therefore, that place became an external stimulus that triggered the desire for some to seek out and use illicit substances. The personal stories of the interviewed women lay the foundation for the discussion of Jones’ work by providing insight into the kinds of hurdles Jones faced in guiding her group through their various stages of recovery. The women’s transformational processes are discussed within the context of Jones’ work with Beracha in Chapter Three. The city of Tallahassee is located in Leon County and is situated in the Northwest region of Florida—14 miles south of Georgia and 20 miles north of the Gulf of Mexico. In addition to being the state capitol of Florida, it is home to Florida State University, Florida A&M University, and Tallahassee Community College. Tallahassee was the backdrop for Alexia Jones’ life as a Florida State University co-ed and dancer in both the Department of Dance’s Bachelor of Fine Arts program and with Florida A&M University’s Orchesis Contemporary Dance Company. It was also the place of Jones’ foray into habitual drug use. By the time Jones had graduated from high school in Decatur, Georgia and had come to Tallahassee in 1981, the city had undergone some significant political and social changes. In 1956, Tallahassee was ushered into the civil rights movement by two Florida A&M students, Wilhelmina Jakes and Carrie Peterson. These young women chose to sit in the only available seats which happened to be next to a white woman rather than stand in the back of the bus. Their civil disobedience sparked the Tallahassee bus boycott and brought racial tension to a rapid boil (Tallahassee Democrat, August 27, 1956). However, the boycott and the ensuing anti-segregation protests were manifestations of the dissatisfaction blacks felt having to live under racially oppressive conditions. As part of “The Ride to Equality: Fifty Years After the Tallahassee Boycott” series published in the Tallahassee Democrat in 2006, staff writer Julian Pecquet penned the retrospective article “Tallahassee Wasn’t Well Prepared for Racial Change (May 21, 2006).” About segregation he wrote:

31 In 1956 the city of Tallahassee had about 38,000 people, more than a third of them black. As in communities across the South since the Reconstruction 80 years earlier, contacts between blacks and whites were governed by a mix of state and local rules and customs. In some respects, Tallahassee’s laws were particularly harsh. On top of the usual segregation of public places, restaurants and shops, one local ordinance forbade “fraternization” between races. “Occasionally a Negro and a white are arrested under this ordinance for drinking beer together in public, or the like,” C.U. Smith, then professor of sociology at Florida A&M University, wrote in a 1958 field report on desegregation in the South. The state, for its part, limited contacts between students at FAMU and Florida State University…. Two months before the boycott, a poll asked white Tallahasseans what they thought of the Supreme Court 1954 decision ruling segregation unconstitutional. A majority—56 percent— agreed “We should do all we can legally to keep (blacks) from getting in.” Another 17 percent concurred with the statement that “We should never let (blacks) in even if it goes against the law.” And 11 percent agreed that it was a bad decision but that the law needed to be obeyed and “we should start trying to let them in.” Only 11 percent thought it was a good decision.

The fight for equality continued in the following decades and some strides were made. From the early 1920s to 1997 Tallahassee employed a system of yearly rotation among the city commissioners. Through this process each elected city commissioner served a one year term as mayor of the city. In 1972, Jim Ford became the first black mayor of Tallahassee. He served subsequent terms as mayor in 1976 and 1982. While he was with the commission, Ford “…worked to eliminate segregated practices in the city government and to secure employment for blacks” (The History Makers) [unpaginated webpage]. The goal of abolishing segregation in Tallahassee put Florida A&M University in jeopardy in 1979. In the December 19-25, 1979 issue of the Capital Outlook, reporter John H. Hanson wrote “FAMU’s Existence under Attack.” Therein he reported that former Governor LeRoy Collins suggested predominantly “…Black universities were outdated leftovers from racial segregation” (1). An editorial response to the former governor’s views about historically black colleges and universities appeared in the same 1979 issue. The writer of “FAMU Now, Forever” expressed: Maybe we should first refresh Gov. Collins memory. FAMU and all other public Black colleges were born in the sin of white America, evolving from Reconstruction legislation and “Jim Crow.” During this period which lasted more than three-quarters of a century Black colleges and universities…educat[ed] nearly all of this country’s Black college graduates…. Yet, while our Black

32 institutions are attacked, Black enrollment at white schools shows little increase and where is the pressure to get white institutions to desegregate? (4)

According to the 1980 Florida Statistical Abstract, Tallahassee’s population was 151,084 (19). Caucasians/Whites were the largest demographic numbering 109,783 followed by African-Americans/Blacks contributing 36,640 to the population. Those of Hispanic origin accounted for 2,429 members. Asians and Pacific Islanders were combined and totaled 985 people. American Indians, Eskimos and Aleuts were also classified as a single group of 264. There were 983 people within the Others category. African-Americans made up approximately 24 percent of Tallahassee’s population, yet on Florida State University’s campus only four percent of the faculty were African- American. In the January 30-February 5, 1980 issue of the Capital Outlook Claudette Jackson expressed her view concerning the disproportionate representation of African- Americans in “Blacks at FSU.” “Recently, the Flambeau did an article on tenure at FSU and I was shocked to learn that there were only 41 Blacks out of a total 1029 faculty members…. I feel there are some serious problems at FSU concerning affirmative action and especially the upward mobility of Black staff and faculty members at this institution” (4). Although legislative and social efforts to desegregate Tallahassee continued with success, racial prejudice was still quite prevalent making the idea of racial equality seem implausible. In the September 24-30, 1980 issue of the Capital Outlook the “Question of the Week” was “Does racial equality exist in Tallahassee?” All of the respondents stated that it did not: John Johnson: “In some instances equality does exist but only tokenism.…” Earlene Roberts: “For the most part, I say NO! Because Blacks in [sic] large are continuously and systematically deprived of a fair share of whatever there is to be had!” L. Gillette: “Racial equality does not exist in Tallahassee on a large scale and nobody needs to tell you that” (5)! In addition to continued racial strife, albeit significantly less overt, the 1980s marked the deterioration of the predominantly black Frenchtown. This district is “…encompassed by Bronough Street to the east, Seventh Avenue and Alabama Street to the north, Woodward Avenue to the west and Tennessee Street to the south. Frenchtown is located northwest of downtown Tallahassee” (World Guide). According to Ms. Suzy

33 Smith, longtime resident of Frenchtown, prior to the desegregation of Tallahassee in the late 1960s, Frenchtown was home to successful black owned businesses. Tookes Hotel at 412 W. Virginia Street hosted writer James Baldwin, musical artists like Lou Rawls and countless other notable and ordinary African-Americans (Ensley 2000). The Ms. Yellow Hair movie theatre provided the latest offerings in black cinema. Restaurants and lounges like the Red Bird Café and Mr. J’s dotted Frenchtown (Suzy Smith, Personal interview by author, May 25, 2007). The advent of desegregation/racial integration meant that African-American business owners and home owners had the option of reestablishing themselves in other areas of Tallahassee. Once the promise of equal access lured away many of the prominent businesses in the area, a new seamier element began to rise (Suzy Smith, Personal interview by author, May 25, 2007). By the 1980s, Frenchtown became the place where one could obtain drugs—especially cocaine and the cocaine derivative, crack. This community also became known for the crime and violence that accompanied the developing drug culture. During the mid 1980s, a smokeable form of cocaine called “rock,” or more commonly known as “crack,” became available nationwide. Although not initially as popular as powder cocaine, crack rapidly became the drug of choice of the poor, and its proliferation took a particularly heavy toll in black communities. Crack cocaine’s affordability and availability were among the reasons it was popular. In 1986, a single dose of crack could be purchased for as little as $5 or $10; and over the next few years…the price of a pellet of crack fell as low as $2 in some parts of the country [Cohn 1986]. Thus by the late 1980s, what had once been called the “champagne of drugs” [6] had become available to the poor—and its use spread especially quickly in impoverished urban areas where enterprising youth turned powder cocaine into crack and sold it on the streets [Fagan and Chin, 1989; Hamid, 1990; Williams, 1992] … [O]nce crack was introduced to the inner- city poor, the “crack epidemic” became a major media event…. (Morgan and Zimmer 1997) [unpaginated webpage]

Lydia, a Tallahassee, Florida native (her name has been changed to protect her anonymity) whose story appears below, recalled crack spreading rapidly through the inner city of Boston, Massachusetts. “I left Boston to get away from [crack], and I came back to Tallahassee only to find [many] of my friends from high school addicted to crack.

34 The same thing that was going on up North was happening here. And instead of running from it, I ran right into it” (Lydia, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). Use of the illicit drug was in its infancy in Tallahassee in the mid 1980s. According to an undercover Vice Unit detective with the Leon County Sheriff’s Office (LCSO)—who cannot be identified for his safety—sales and use of the cocaine derivative was focused primarily in Frenchtown. Establishments like the Tropicana lounge as well as the aforementioned Mr. J’s became known as hotbeds of illegal activity. In 1985 the Tropicana was shut down after a raid. The Capital Outlook reported the incident in the article “Law Enforcement Drug-Busts ‘Street’ Element” (Feb 7-13, 1985). “I just saw a lot of cars coming up like they do to take one guy out,” said one man who had been walking down the sidewalk when some 15 police officers, sheriff’s deputies and state alcohol beverage control agents swooped in on the Tropicana lounge at 401 N. Macomb St. “It looked a lot like television or a major assault at first. I’ve never seen anything like it in the history of Tallahassee.” Simultaneously, an equal number of officers and deputies stormed into Perry’s Discount Package Store at 415 N. Macomb. Both raids were made around 8:30 p.m. Jan. 30 after six months of undercover work by state agents, complaints from neighbors, and previous arrests of individuals by city police, according to state alcoholic beverage control Lt. Mark Willingham. The raid was designed to catch 16 people…. Those people, Willingham said, had been buying, selling or using drugs in the establishments at will…. Dozens of used marijuana cigarettes littered the wooden floor and baggies containing marijuana and cocaine were knocked from beneath tables and benches by police investigators…. The following afternoon, the doors were padlocked shut. People, such as Wilson James— longtime Tallahassee resident—were still talking about the excitement. “These things are going to happen no matter what law enforcement does,” he said. “Down where I live just a little way from here, it’s the same old dope s--- everywhere. They were going to sell it, but they’ve got to get it out of the neighborhoods…. I don’t like them selling it on the streets.”

While powder cocaine was found at the Tropicana, in the mid 1980s Mr. J’s was known for crack cocaine. David Jones and his brothers, sons of the former, local Frenchtown pharmacist, managed the establishment. Notorious dealers of crack cocaine and teenage prostitution, the “Jones boys” capitalized on the budding interest in the cocaine derivative. Many of the girls known to keep the men’s company were addicted and commonly financed their habits with sex-for-drug exchanges (Lydia, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). Use and sales were particularly heavy on Brevard Street where prostitution was also problematic. (LCSO Detective, Personal interview by

35 author, May 17 2007). The crack subculture began to reign in Frenchtown and encroach on the Bond Community. During the same period, there were more positive advances being made in the African-American community. Those driven to the fringes of society by their cyclical patterns of substance abuse were largely unaware of the progress Tallahassee continued to make concerning race relations. In 1980 a group of African-American performance and visual artists and arts advocates organized the Harambee Arts and Cultural Festival. Harambee is a Swahili term which means “let us pull together” (Maxon and Ofcansky, 2000, 89). In the truest sense of the word’s meaning, the Tallahassee festival brought together local and regional artists, scholars and community members who desired to share their interest in the arts and culture of the African Diaspora. The first festival was held at the Northwood Mall, a small shopping center on West Tharpe Street just north of Frenchtown. From its humble beginnings in 1980, until 1998, the festival offered Tallahasseans extensive exposure to the visual and performing arts, and culture of the African Diaspora. Prior to the inception of the Harambee Festival, the Springtime Tallahassee civic organization served as the most prominent voice of Tallahassee history and culture. During the Springtime Tallahassee Parade and Festival (est. in 1968), representational parade floats would wind their way along a designated route; leading the way was Andrew Jackson in effigy. Many Tallahassee blacks strenuously objected to the celebration of Jackson, who “…was a leading advocate of a policy known as ‘Indian Removal’ which uprooted of Native Americans from Florida and other parts of the country (Rogin 1975, 206, 215; Cotterell 2005; Satz 1975, 97, 101). African-American protests eventually prompted the Springtime Tallahassee organization to move Jackson from the front of the parade to a less prominent position in the middle (Cotterell 2005). Both the Harambee and Springtime Tallahassee festivals co-existed and sometimes ran concurrently. Both festivals provided texture and balance to the cultural landscape. In spite of these changes in Tallahassee’s racial and cultural environment, Jones moved back to Decatur, Georgia in 1986. Her extensive use of marijuana made it impossible to continue at Florida State University. The events surrounding her return to

36 Tallahassee in 1994 and her subsequent founding of the Beracha Dance Ministry in 1995—later Beracha Institute of Mothers in Crisis—is explored in Chapter Three. During the period of Jones’ absence from the city, Tallahassee continued its gradual progression towards becoming a more broadminded environment. This was evidenced by the development of additional educational and entertainment opportunities which were reflective of other previously overlooked groups who inhabited the city. For example, in 1987 the Mickee Faust Club was established. It is located in the “artsy” Railroad Square, north of Florida A&M University. Billing itself as “community theatre for the weird community,” its mission is “…to give the people of Tallahassee, Florida an alternative venue and voice….” (Mickee Faust—Manifesto) [unpaginated web page]. The Unity Festival was also a deliberate effort to serve the cultural needs of Tallahassee. Established in 1991 by the Tallahassee chapter of the Urban League, the annual outdoor event was designed to celebrate the cultural and ethnic diversity of Tallahassee. Art, clothing, and food vendors peddle their wares while various performance groups share their dances and songs. The “unity in the community” event has been well attended since it began, provided the February rain does not mandate cancellation. The more ethnically focused Caribbean Carnival, which began in 1992, celebrates the rich Caribbean culture of Tallahassee. Founder and organizer Maria Henry was inspired to establish this annual August event by her desire to quell homesickness. While the event honors Caribbean heritage, participation in the parade is not exclusive. The Caribbean nationals are joined by black and white Tallahasseans who don the elaborate and sometimes massive costumes and dance through the downtown streets. Student organizations from the community college and the two universities contributed significantly to Tallahassee’s transformation from a strictly conservative and separatist environment into a place that was more acceptable and accepting of diverse groups. For instance, the unapologetically vocal gay/lesbian/transgender campus groups have carved their niche. Local businesses have accommodated this group’s need for entertainment and fellowship. Naturally, this also benefited the gay, lesbian, and transgender community members not affiliated with the campuses. Turn Left: The Home

37 of Liberalism on the Web gives a nod to this sentiment and identifies the city as a “liberal place.” While Tallahassee has a liberal nature which is of benefit to many groups, in February of 2007, a Florida A&M University (FAMU) student suggested the benefits of this liberality are limited by pervasive racism and racial bias. Hence, some, like the FAMU student, insist that Tallahassee has a more conservative feel. For example, the 2006 Florida Statute 562.453 states, “It is unlawful for any person to consume any intoxicating liquor, except malt beverages of legal alcohol content, at curb or drive in stands, except within the building in which is the address of the person holding a license for the sale of such intoxicating liquors.” The FAMU student commented that, “[o]n FSU (Florida State University) football game days I see white students drinking beer while walking past police officers on the way to or from the stadium. [The students] are never reprimanded.” He also indicated that he has never witnessed this kind of flagrant violation of the law on or near FAMU’s campus. “It is an unspoken understanding that the laws are written with black people in mind. We know if we (blacks) break the laws, the Tallahassee Police Department will thoroughly enforce them.” In spite of the perceived disparity concerning law enforcement, Tallahassee seems interested in creating and maintaining an environment that fosters ethnic diversity and family values. Hence, community festivals are well advertised, legalized gambling is limited to Florida lottery, and strip clubs are located outside of Leon County. Depending on the lens through which Tallahassee is viewed over the years, the city can appear to have become the embodiment of the American dream: prosperity and harmony—racial, familial, etc. And while the city’s advancements concerning the quality of life for many residents cannot be denied, in the 1990s illicit drug use became as much a part of the Tallahassee landscape, as are its rolling hills. In the article, “Crackin’ Down on Crack and Crime” (1995) writer David Hatchett indicated there was an exponential decrease in crime in “[f]ive of nine metropolitan areas surveyed in a[n]…Office of Drug Control Policy report.” This reduction was attributed to the “stabilization” of crack cocaine use. “Stabilization of the crack cocaine market” was another way of saying that interest in, or use of crack had dwindled (20).

38 Taking an opposite view, the undercover Leon County Sheriff’s Office detective explained that since the mid 1980s, crack use in Tallahassee increased by 80 percent. The most substantial rise in use in Tallahassee came in the early to mid 1990s. Since his time with the LCSO, 1994 to the present, the detective has witnessed the spread of crack from the inner city (Frenchtown) to the edges of Leon County. He credits this increase with its wide availability. According to the detective, crack is significantly more popular than powder cocaine, heroin and ecstasy. The illicit drug’s grip on Tallahassee/Leon County is so considerable he has found it in single family homes, schools and businesses. Further, he estimates that 1 out of 10 homes has someone who either uses or sells the drug. Of the drug arrests he has made, 5 out of 10 are crack-related (LCSO Detective, Personal interview by author, May 17, 2007). The LCSO vice detective called crack “a profitable street drug.” Twenty-eight grams of powder cocaine can be easily converted to crack by cooking it with baking soda and water. The process creates pieces or rocks, no larger than the nail covering an average adult’s small finger. These rocks are sold individually. He added that because the process of producing crack multiplies the volume of the drug, possession of the substance and/or its accompanying paraphernalia carry heavier penalties than possession of powder cocaine (LCSO Detective, Personal interview by author, May 17, 2007). He called crack a highly addictive drug. The detective stated that based on his observations, aside from a handful of exceptions, forced abstention through imprisonment and death were usually the only escapes from a life of abuse. In 2000 the Tallahassee/Leon County Anti-Drug, Anti-Violence Alliance (ADAVA) hosted a drug summit addressing the rising popularity of “designer” and “rave club drugs” that began around 1997 in Tallahassee. The city’s pre-existing drug problem of crack cocaine was far from being a memory. Hence, drugs like the hallucinogen ecstasy (MDMA) and Rohypnol, also known as the “date rape drug,” added another dimension to the picture of addiction (Burlew 2000). This new epidemic—club drugs— which began as part of illegal raves, all night dance parties, clearly demonstrated that the problem of use/addiction was not limited to any particular ethnic or age group. However, in Tallahassee/Leon County the ages of rave participants commonly range from young teens to college age adults.

39 1980s music journalist, Simon Reynolds, explored the rave subculture in his book, Generation Ecstasy: Into the World of Techno and Rave Culture (1988). As part of his research, he engaged in the use of MDMA/ecstasy and immersed himself into a rave party in 1991. …[F]ully E’d up, I finally grasped viscerally why the music was made the way it was; how certain tingly textures goosepimpled your skin and particular oscillator riffs triggered the E-rush…. Dance moves spread through the crowd like superfast viruses. I was instantly entrained in a new kind of dancing—tics and spasms, twitches and jerks, the agitation of bodies broken down into separate components, then reintegrated at the level of the dance floor as a whole…. Unity and self-expression fused in a force field of pulsating, undulating euphoria…. At a rave the emotional outpouring and huggy demonstrativeness is…a major part of the MDMA experience (which is why ravers use the term “loved-up”), but intimacy is dispersed into a generalized bonhomie: you bond with the gang you came with, but also with people you’ve never met. Anyone who’s been to a rave knows the electric thrill of catching a stranger’s eye, making contact through the shared glee of knowing that you’re both buzzing off the same drug/music synergy. Part of what makes the classic rave experience so rewarding and so addictive are the “superficial” but literally touching rituals of sharing water, shaking hands, having someone a tad worse for wear lean on you as if you were bosom buddies. (5, 84)

Tallahassee’s infatuation with ecstasy and other designer drugs was nearly a decade behind the rest of the United States. Yet, according to the article, “Arrests Bring Rave Rage Home” in the Tallahassee Democrat (April 6, 2000) it did not take long for drug use and sales to reach catastrophic proportions, particularly for a city of Tallahassee’s size: …[I]nvestigators from the Leon County Sheriff’s Office and FDLE (Florida Department of Law Enforcement) announc[ed] Wednesday (April 5, 2000) the end of a yearlong undercover probe…prov[ing] the rave lifestyle has gone mainstream in Tallahassee. Operation X-Files yielded more than 70 arrests of mostly young white college students from middle-to upper-class families and turned up $420,000 worth of designer drugs and property… “I had no idea… that it would turn out like this,” said Detective Ed Cook, with the Sheriff’s Office’s narcotics unit. “We had no idea how prevalent it was in our community” (Bridges 2000)

On August 29, 2000 the Tallahassee Democrat ran the article “Frat President Faces Drug Rap.” Staff writers Rosanne Dunkelberger and Tony Bridges reported that on Sunday, August 27, 2000 Francisco Luis Moreno, the president of Florida State University’s Theta Chi fraternity was arrested for selling ecstasy. His arrest followed a two-month

40 investigation that was conducted by the Tallahassee Police Department (TPD). TPD’s investigation and subsequent arrest coupled with the Leon County Sheriff’s Operation X- Files demonstrated that illicit substances dubbed “designer” and “rave club drugs” could no longer be strictly affiliated with the rave club subculture. During the ADAVA Rave Club/Designer Drug Summit (August 31, 2000), “…a local high school sophomore cautioned the audience that club drugs aren’t limited to the college set. They figure prominently at high school parties, she told the audience. ‘This is real common every weekend,’ said the girl, who started using drugs in the fourth grade” (Burlew 2000). “‘Ecstasy is getting crazy right now,’ the undercover [Tallahassee Police Department officer said (2000). ‘It’s like crack cocaine in the ‘80’s’” (Dunkelberger and Bridges 2000). Rosalind Tompkins, founder of Mothers in Crisis and then director of ADAVA, believed the summit was a success. In addition to being well-attended, the conference was covered by the Tallahassee Democrat and the local television stations. Hence, those in attendance at the conference, as well as those who either read the Democrat article “Summit Teaches Club-Drug Dangers” (September 1, 2000) or watched the news coverage learned of the prevalence and deleterious effects of ecstasy use (ADAVA Drug Summit 2000). Tompkins understood that ecstasy use had become endemic. Further, as she expected, because the drug was used most prominently by young white school- and college-age groups, Tallahassee audiences would be eager to learn more about the dangers of designer/club drugs. Not only did she hope the drug summit would provide this information, but she also hoped it would allow the audience to hearken back to a preexisting and continuing problem of crack cocaine addiction in Tallahassee/Leon County (ADAVA Drug Summit 2000). Tompkins, founder of Mothers in Crisis (MIC), had once been addicted to crack. She was introduced to the drug in the 1980s. Although she suffered greatly as a result of her addiction, she was able to obtain sobriety. Drawing on her personal battles and her first-hand knowledge and clinical understandings of crack cocaine she counseled numerous African-American women through her organization MIC. Sometimes her efforts were rewarded. Other times relapse was inevitable and Tompkins was forced to

41 watch clients acquiesce to their crack cravings. Consequently, these women remained trapped in a reality that no longer garnered the attention of the news media. Tompkins hoped the ADAVA Drug Summit would encourage interest in, and financial support for, the work she was doing with the crack-addicted African-American women in Tallahassee, Florida. Jones was working closely with Tompkins through Mothers in Crisis (MIC) in the capacity of the youth program facilitator. The young participants were the children of mothers who had come to MIC seeking help for their addictions. By this time Jones had been back in Tallahassee for a period of five years, having returned to the city when crack use was on an upswing. Jones was concerned about the African- American women who were seemingly locked into the compulsive cycle of substance abuse and the impact this lifestyle was having on their children. According to researchers John P. Morgan and Lynn Zimmer, crack became a “social-psychological phenomenon.” In their article, “The Social Pharmacology of Smokeable Cocaine: Not All It’s Cracked Up to Be, (1997)” they debunked the idea of crack being highly addictive based solely on its “pharmacological fit with the human organism.” They wrote: [W]e are not suggesting that a drug’s pharmacology is unimportant. After all, for a drug to be used recreationally, people have to like how it makes them feel, and how a drug makes people feel is a product of its ‘pharmacological fit’ with the human organism. However, a description of this ‘fit’ cannot explain why only some people use a particular drug, why only some of them become regular users, or why fewer still use it in a volume and frequency that disrupts their lives. [unpaginated webpage]

On the other hand, researchers (P.G. Erickson et al., D. Waldorf et al.) suggested that cocaine and its derivatives provide a “chemical reward” (Ibid.). This reward and “pharmacological fit” are enough to justify repeated use. The drug has the ability to “increase the neural activity of dopamine and other neurotransmitters—in effect stimulating the ‘pleasure system’ that is activated when humans have pleasurable real-life experiences” (Ibid.). Crack cocaine was termed the most addictive substance because it characteristically creates an almost immediate, intense, yet short-lived high. The pursuit of a sustained state of euphoria results in continued use. In his article, “Gender Differences in Early Risk Factors for Substance Abuse/Use: A Study of an African-American Sample,” researcher Alfred S. Friedman

42 questioned whether gender is a factor which predisposes African-American women to drug use or abuse. His research, as well as studies by other experts in the field of addiction (Young, Boyd, and Hubell 2001) indicated that gender can be a significant factor. Some “literature suggests that approximately 60-84% of women in drug treatment programs have been victimized by child sexual abuse” (Freeman 2002) [unpaginated web page]. These women engaged in drug behaviors as a means of self-medication in order to cope with sexual abuse and/or assault, physical and emotional abuse and the accompanying trauma (Ibid.). While abuse and “preexisting risk factors” do not guarantee that an African-American woman will choose the path of addiction, it can be inferred that the potential is heightened (Perez 2000; Freeman 2002). Preexisting risk factors can include the exposure to illicit drugs and the compulsive use of legal substances like alcohol or prescription drugs. The complex relationship between drug abuse and the personal traumas of the women’s lives becomes clearly apparent in the stories of several women who worked with Alexia Jones. Lydia was addicted to crack cocaine at the age of 21 but she was an alcoholic and compulsive smoker of marijuana by the age of 15. Lydia is representative of many African-American female addicts. Within her home environment, “risk factors” were present making her a likely candidate for substance use and abuse (Friedman 1995) [unpaginated web page]. She had early exposure to alcohol and drug addiction. Under her familial roof lived three generations of addicts—her grandparents, her mother and herself. Her grandparents assumed the primary responsibility of rearing her, so Lydia’s mother was more a sibling than a parent. Both her grandparents and her mother lived riotously. All three were addicted to alcohol, and Lydia’s mother also habitually used marijuana. However, Lydia’s contact with drugs, particularly alcohol was not limited to exposure via her nuclear family. She stated, “Drinking was a family thing. I can remember family members giving me sips of beer during get-togethers when I was little” (Lydia, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). The family’s heavy substance use was not viewed as problematic. Their philosophy was to expose Lydia to alcohol at an early age so that it would not have as much appeal when she was able to acquire it for herself.

43 In addition to excessive consumption of alcohol and marijuana, Lydia was regularly exposed to violence. Her grandfather consistently battered his wife. Lydia recalled several occasions during which he knocked her grandmother unconscious. These assaults were never reported to the police, nor spoken of in the home or among the frequently visiting relatives—most of whom were Lydia’s aunts and uncles. Lydia’s grandmother and grandfather continued their cyclical and compulsive use of alcohol to the detriment of their health, respectively. In the article “Domestic Abuse and Alcohol: Some Doubt the Role Alcohol Plays,” the author pointed out that alcoholism is often cited as the cause of domestic abuse. He refuted this argument, stating that alcoholism often only provides a batterer an excuse for violence (Buddy T) [unpaginated web page]. Similarly, researchers John P. Morgan and Lynn Zimmer wrote, “In this culture, crack—like alcohol—is associated with violence primarily because it is often used by people already at high risk for behaving violently and because it is often used in social settings in which violence is already common [William, 1992]. No drug directly causes violence simply through its pharmacological action” (Morgan and Zimmer 1997) [unpaginated web page]. In the case of Lydia’s grandparents, both the alcohol abuse as well as violent behaviors served as an outlet or means of coping with feelings of powerlessness “in a world that [was] generally believed [to be] hostile toward them” (Ibid.). In the article “Domestic Abuse and Alcohol” the writer identified similarities between alcoholism and domestic violence that suggest why the two are often bed fellows: “Alcoholism and battering do share some similar characteristics—both may be passed from generation to generation, both involve denial or minimalization of the problem, [and] both involve isolation of the family” (Buddy T) [unpaginated web page]. Lydia was already vulnerable to addictive behaviors because of environmental factors. There was rampant substance use, an abundance of denial shrouded in a flawed family philosophy, and insularity. In addition, in the midst of Lydia acquiring a taste for both marijuana and alcohol, she was molested by an uncle. The habitual use of substances gave her the power to anesthetize herself to the violation of her body, mind, and spirit. According to researchers D.A. Wasserman, B.E. Havassy and S.M. Boles, “Cocaine may be self-administered as a means of preventing recollection of a past

44 traumatic event or to reduce the psychological and physiological symptoms caused by the event” (quoted. in Freeman 2002). Tracy is also a native of Tallahassee. At the time of the interview she was in her late forties. She is a mother of two children—an adult daughter who is now in her late- thirties and a son who is 21 years old. She is married to a man who also was a drug user. He obtained and maintained his sobriety while Tracy continued to struggle. She presents a different picture of addiction because she suffers from bipolar disorder. Prior to her diagnosis, Tracy was more given to act recklessly during her periods of mania. Her illicit behavior included acquiring and using crack cocaine with frequency. She, like Lydia, was caught in the crack wave that was sweeping through the inner cities of the United States, and she became addicted during the mid-1980s. In her interview she recalled the extensive media coverage, and the barrage of experts proclaiming that crack addiction was a life-long sentence (Morgan and Zimmer 1997) [unpaginated web page]. She believed the media messages. Robbed of hope, she dove further into her compulsion. Tracy’s addiction has two phases—prior and post diagnosis. Initially her bipolar condition went undiagnosed, so she ignored her extreme moods with the use of crack cocaine. Brenda Souto, researcher and author of the 1996 article “Dual Diagnosis: Adolescents with Co-occurring Brain Disorders and Substance Abuse Disorders,” wrote “[T]he combination of mental illness and substance abuse is so common that many clinicians now expect to find it” (quoted in Read “Self-Medicating) [unpaginated web page]. In the article “What is Bipolar Disorder: A Layperson’s Definition of Manic Depression,” researcher Marcia Purse wrote, “[B]ipolar disorder—also known as manic depression or manic-depressive illness—is much more complicated than just alternating between depression and elation. [It] is an illness that affects thoughts, feelings, perceptions and behavior [and] how a person feels physically…” (Purse “A Layperson’s Definition”) [unpaginated web page]. The American system of diagnosing bipolar disorder classifies the mental illness into two categories: Bipolar Disorder I and Bipolar Disorder II. Tracy suffers from the former. Purse describes the condition as the least complicated form of the illness because the person experiences moods that shift between two poles—depression and mania, at varying degrees. Although Bipolar Disorder I is the simplest form of the illness, it is the most acute (Ibid.).

45 After approximately five years of being driven by her habit, she sought help from Narcotics Anonymous (NA). Contrary to her belief in the validity of the media’s messages about life-long crack addiction, she navigated her way to sobriety. She successfully abstained from crack for 10 years. During her stint with NA Tracy learned that she was bipolar. Yet, she refused to treat her condition because she felt acknowledging the disorder was synonymous with admitting that she was “crazy.” About this type of attitude towards mental illness, Purse wrote, “[A] mental illness is one that affects the mind, [it is not something] that’s all in the mind” (Purse “A Layperson’s Definition”) [unpaginated webpage]. Rather than embracing the diagnosis as a possible explanation for her prior addictive behaviors, Tracy fell into a deep depression. The symptoms of depression may include: “refusing to get out of bed for days on end; sleeping much more than usual; being tired all the time but unable to sleep; having bouts of uncontrollable crying; becoming entirely uninterested in things once enjoyed; paying no attention to daily responsibilities; feeling hopeless, helpless or worthless for a sustained period of time; becoming unable to make simple decisions; and wanting to die” (Purse “A Layperson’s Definition) [unpaginated webpage]. Tracy’s depression was typical in that she experienced each of the listed symptoms, including a suicide attempt. On the other hand, symptoms of mania, the polar opposite of depression, include the following: feeling invincible to the point of willingness to engage in reckless, dangerous or illicit behavior; possessing seemingly illimitable energy; and psychosis (Ibid.). In her article, “Bipolar Basics: Understanding Manic Depression,” Purse defined psychosis as “a loss of contact with reality.” These breaks with reality can include paranoia, hallucinations, and delusions (Purse “Bipolar Basics”) [unpaginated webpage]. While Tracy did not experience psychotic episodes, her actions were guided by both the manic and depressive aspects of her disorder. According to Tracy, the depression was more bothersome and enduring than her periods of mania. It was during one of her severe bouts of depression that she relapsed. However, it is likely as Purse asserted that it was during periods of mania that she was more likely to engage in illicit behavior. She recalled her feelings, “[Using crack] couldn’t be any worse than this” (Tracy, Personal interview by author, August 2,

46 2005). However, after a few days of active use, she knew she could not return to that sordid existence. Tracy’s effort to self-medicate via crack cocaine is a common practice among those with bipolar disorder. According to medical doctor and psychiatrist Kathleen Brady, “substance abuse occurs in 30% to 60% of patients with bipolar disorder and is more likely to coexist with bipolar illness than any other …psychiatric disorder.” Her research also indicated that 30% of cocaine abusers are undiagnosed sufferers of bipolar disorder (quoted in Read “Self-Medicating”) [unpaginated webpage]. Robert E. Drake, MD, PhD is not singularly convinced that the desire to self- medicate is the sole impetus for drug use among the mentally ill. In his article “Substance Abuse and Mental Illness,” Drake indicated that some researchers believe substance use can trigger mental illness in certain individuals. Researchers, like Kathleen Brady, MD, PhD and Agnes B. Hatfield, PhD asserted that those suffering from mental illness are attempting to mitigate the symptoms of their disorders and/or the side effects of their prescribed medications. Drake’s evaluation of research regarding people with a dual diagnosis of both severe mental illness and substance disorder takes into account social and economic factors. He wrote: The evidence is most consistent with a more complex explanation in which well- known risk factors—such as poor cognitive function, anxiety, deficient interpersonal skills, social isolation, poverty, and lack of structured activities— combine to render people with mental illnesses particularly vulnerable to alcohol and drug abuse (Drake “Substance Abuse”) [unpaginated webpage].

The risk factors may contribute significantly to the reasons “approximately 50 percent of people with a diagnosis of severe mental illness also meet lifetime criteria for a diagnosis of substance abuse disorder” (Ibid.). Yet, Tracy’s crack use was more the result of her need to alleviate the symptoms of her illness (Read “Self Medicating”) [unpaginated webpage]. She was raised in an economically sound home where both Christian faith and education were valued. In school she excelled in academics and athletics. She believes had she been diagnosed with, and cooperated with, a prescribed course of treatment for her bipolar disorder she would have pursued a college education. Tracy finally consented to treatment of her bipolar disorder. She knew crack use and mood swings—particularly her grave depression—were severely jeopardizing not

47 only her health, but also her family life. Her husband threatened to leave her to battle her demons alone, and relocate for the benefit of their two children: a college-aged daughter and a pre-adolescent son. Hence, under a doctor’s care, she began taking a regimen of prescription medications in order to balance her moods. In short order she became addicted to the legal drugs. Tracy stated, “I just replaced one addiction with another” (Tracy, Personal interview by author, August 2, 2005). She struggled to find balance between addiction and prescription, sometimes opting to forego the use of her medication in an effort to thwart the addictive cycle. Nevertheless, she was without relief because she needed the medication as prescribed, to regulate her mind. There is no known cure for bipolar disorder, so Tracy will forever have to walk a fine line between treating her illness and addiction. For her it is a daily battle of will and a matter of faith. As will be discussed in Chapter Three, she learned to find balance in the various aspects of her life through her reliance on her religious beliefs and an awakened passion for dance. Rhea’s addiction was more similar to Lydia’s in that she was exposed to drugs at an early age. In her interview Rhea revealed that at 13 years of age, her eldest sister’s boyfriend offered her a line powered cocaine. She accepted the offer. She did not continue to use the drug because at her early age she had no means of supporting the habit. Hence, her use of illicit drugs was restricted. In 1985, Rhea became addicted to crack cocaine while five months pregnant with her youngest child. She had developed a yearning for the drug after obtaining some “rocks” from her drug-dealing boyfriend. He assumed she was procuring the drug in order to sell it. When Rhea began desperately insisting he supply her with more, he then deduced she was not only using crack, but was also addicted. Her boyfriend, although not the baby’s father, was concerned for her unborn child and refused to give her more crack. Rhea began obtaining the drug from other sources. She stated that between highs she would consider the harmful effect that her drug use was having on her unborn child. Still her addiction kept her in pursuit of the substance. In a desperate attempt to get help, she called her parents and explained that she was using while pregnant. She fully expected them to come to her assistance. “I thought they would rescue me…tell me I had

48 to get help…insist I get treatment. They never did. Instead they just said, ‘Girl you have to stop doing that’” (Rhea, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). Rhea shared her belief that all her siblings, two sisters and a brother, used drugs to fill the void left by their parents. The children never shared an affectionate and communicative relationship with them. “I believe had we had that, my sisters would be alive today” (Ibid.). Both her older sister and younger sister died as result of their involvement with drugs. Her younger sister was murdered because of a disagreement pertaining to drugs. Her older sister died from complications of AIDS which she contracted through high risk sexual activity. According to Claire E. Sterk, researcher/writer of the article “Female Crack Users and Their Sexual Relationships: The Role of Sex-for Crack Exchanges,” “Almost two thirds (62%) of reported female AIDS cases are among African-American women, and of these cases 37% are due to heterosexual contact. Although no data are available indicating the extent to which these cases are linked to unsafe sex in the context of crack cocaine use, researchers have associated crack cocaine use with high-risk sex, including unprotected sex and sex with multiple partners [e.g., Edlin et al., 1994; Inciardi, 1995; Jones et al., 1998; Siegel et al., 1992]” (Sterk 2000) [unpaginated webpage]. Rhea’s parents’ emotional unavailability can be considered a form of abuse, specifically emotional neglect. Such a conclusion is supported by literature published by the Focus Adolescent Services which outlines the various kinds of child abuse. Among other factors, emotional neglect “includes such actions as marked inattention to the child’s needs for affection” (Focus Adolescent Services) [unpaginated webpage]. In a related vein, the 2005 National Institute on Drug Abuse (NIDA) Director’s Report indicated that parental neglect can play a role in children’s substance disorders (National Institute on Drug Abuse) [unpaginated webpage]. Throughout the balance of her pregnancy, Rhea battled with her desire to be clean, and her desire to get high. Crack always won. Consequently, she made frequent trips to the emergency room because after using she often could not feel her baby moving in her womb. She recalled, “The doctors and nurses would say, ‘[Rhea] is back. Get the heart monitor because we are going to have to show her the baby’s heart beating on the screen.’ I would not leave until I saw the heartbeat.” She and her younger sister, who

49 was also addicted to crack, shared a joke concerning Rhea’s use while pregnant. “My sister would say, ‘during delivery the doctor’s going to ask you when was the last time you smoked [crack], and as you go to answer him, smoke will come out of your mouth’” (Rhea, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). In spite of the joke, Rhea understood the gravity of her compulsive behavior and fully expected her child to be stillborn or addicted to crack cocaine. Rhea based her belief not only on the connection between her crack use and her subsequent inability to detect movement in her womb, but also on extensive media coverage regarding the impact of crack cocaine on the unborn. Yet in their article, “The Social Pharmacology of Smokeable Cocaine,” researchers John P. Morgan and Lynn Zimmer assert that the crack baby was a media creation. They wrote: Cocaine does not produce physical dependence, and babies exposed to it prenatally do not exhibit symptoms of withdrawal. Other symptoms of drug dependence—such as “craving” and “compulsion”—cannot be detected in babies. In fact, without knowing that cocaine was used by their mothers, clinicians cannot distinguish so-called crack-addicted babies from babies born to comparable mothers who had never used cocaine or crack (Hadeed and Siegel, 1989; Parker et al., 1990) [unpaginated webpage]

Morgan and Zimmer further noted that issues like birth defects, low birth weight, premature births and the like were often incorrectly attributed to crack cocaine use. They wrote, “[T]he cocaine users selected for fetal impact studies were overwhelmingly poor and minority—which means they are less likely to have had adequate nutrition and medical care during their pregnancies and less likely to have healthy babies, whether they use cocaine or not” (Ibid.). The findings of other researchers negate the Morgan and Zimmer study. Charles Bauer, et al conducted a study to determine the “Acute Neonatal Effects of Cocaine Exposure during Pregnancy.” Based on physical examinations and observations made during the infants’ period of hospitalization after birth, the researchers found that as a result of cocaine exposure the infants were “about 1.2 weeks younger, weighed 536g less, measured 2.6 cm shorter, and had [a] head circumference 1.5 smaller than nonexposed infants” (Bauer et al. 2005) [unpaginated webpage]. A longitudinal study performed by researchers from the Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine (CWRU) found the same physical effects in the infants they studied. However, the purpose of the

50 CWRU study was to determine the effects of cocaine on the cognitive development of prenatally exposed infants: [T]he rate of mental retardation in cocaine-exposed children at age 2 (13.7 percent v. 7.1 percent in the non-exposed group) is 4.89 times higher than expected in the general population. And the percentage of children with mild delays (37.6 percent in the exposed group v. 20.9 percent in the non-exposed group) requiring intervention was almost double the rate of the high-risk, non- cocaine group. Researchers speculate it is likely that these children will continue to have learning problems and an increased need for special educational services at school age. Another important note from the study is that cognitive delays could not be attributed to exposure to other drugs or larger number of other variables, including inadequate prenatal care, caregiver or birth mother intelligence, psychological distress, postnatal drug exposure or low quality home environment (Case Western Reserve University)

Despite the lack of prenatal care and extensive crack use, Rhea defied the odds and gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Yet, she continued to gamble with her extensive use of crack. She was aware that her addiction prevented her from providing her baby with proper care, so Rhea gave her friend charge over him. Her baby remained in her friend’s care until she relocated to New York, New York. Both her older sister and her son’s father lived in the city; what is more, they too were addicted to crack. She rekindled the relationship with her baby’s father and they agreed to move to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Their reunion was short-lived. Rhea did not have the means to procure her own crack, so she once again found herself dependent on another person in order to get high, and she found this acceptable. Being dependent on others for crack and being dependent on the drug itself were making Rhea increasingly weary. Once more she reached out to her parents for help. At her mother’s suggestion, Rhea sought out her uncle, and he opened his home to her. Initially she abstained, successfully creating the façade of the perfect house guest and mother, but she returned to habitual use. She knew she could not continue to abuse her uncle’s hospitality so she moved back to Tallahassee where she eventually obtained sobriety. Rhea, like Lydia and Tracy, sought help from the Beracha Dance Institute of Mothers in Crisis. Bobbi is yet another woman who chose drugs as means of coping with her life’s harsh circumstances. However, her problems were primarily centered on her inability to cope with issues of rejection, abandonment and loss which would lead to bouts of

51 depression. She began using alcohol to remedy depressive states. She also became addicted to powder cocaine, which places her in the minority of the formerly addicted members of Beracha. From birth, her mother demonstrated that she was incapable and/or unwilling to care for Bobbi. Consequently, her grandmother took her in. Bobbi described herself as “Granny’s baby” (Bobbi, Personal interview by author, July 30, 2005). Her grandmother doted on her, much to the chagrin of one her own children—Bobbi’s aunt. Bobbi even called her grandmother “mama” and called her birth mother by her first name. Her grandmother was her world. She gave her love, instilled the importance of faith in God, and provided for her every need. For Bobbi and her grandmother, life and church were inseparable. She explained that their daily existence always involved some kind of church activity, whether at the church or at church member’s home. There were no apparent conditions that predisposed Bobbi to alcohol and cocaine abuse. Bobbi was a successful student. Her academic achievements and prowess on the basketball court garnered a scholarship to Florida A&M University (FAMU). After graduating from high school she began her studies at the university. During her first year her grandmother began to grow ill and suffered a stroke. Bobbi was optimistic that her grandmother would make a full recovery. However, her jealous aunt began to instill fear by asking, “Who’s going to take care of you now?” Her grandmother’s condition did improve slightly, but she remained in poor health. During Bobbi’s second year at FAMU she withdrew from school so that she could care for her grandmother. Her optimism regarding her grandmother’s full recovery was not rewarded. Her grandmother suffered two more strokes and a heart attack. Soon after, she died on October 31, 1982. Bobbi was devastated. The only person she ever believed loved her was gone. Her grief sent her into a tailspin and she began binge drinking and “running with the wrong crowd.” Her grandmother’s youngest children—Bobbi’s aunt and uncle— attempted to intervene. Yet when they insisted on her compliance, Bobbi rebelled wholeheartedly. As her emotional pain lessened she began reaching out to her mother. “My grandmother made me promise to get to know her for who she is and not what she did

52 (that is, rejecting Bobbi).” She was firm in her commitment, although the process was slow. Bobbi stated that her stepfather was instrumental in helping the two women bond. She loved and trusted him as a natural father, and he loved and cared for her. He encouraged both women to continue in their efforts and eventually the two women became close. The emotional support positively affected Bobbi, and she curtailed her use of alcohol. It was not long before Bobbi had a new love interest. This man would become her husband and her children’s father. Excitedly she introduced him to her mother. Her mother expressed reservations about the relationship and advised Bobbi not to rush into marriage. Her mother was familiar with his family. They were an unsavory lot who were given to violence and illegal activity. Bobbi heeded her mother’s advice only temporarily; she then eloped. She kept the marriage a secret for approximately one year, only revealing it after learning she was pregnant. Two months after her son was born, Bobbi’s husband began beating her. Any excuse would suffice for his brutality; however issues concerning money agitated him in particular. He was unemployed and not seeking work. She was working for two different employers, attending trade school and taking care of her child and home. When she received her paychecks he would beat her and take the money. The bills often went unpaid. She fought hard against the temptation to drink, and distracted herself with vocational school studies. In the 2001 study, “Domestic Abuse: Organizational and Employee Impact,” Leslie Mickles wrote about some of the behaviors which are characteristic of abusive relationships. Domestic abuse involves a very complex pattern of behaviors beyond just the physical violence. The abuser maintains power and control over his victim in a multitude of ways including controlling access to finances, restricting or destroying the victim’s connections with friends or family…physical abuse or threats of abuse [Walker, 1989]. The physical beatings are only one part of this complex pattern of control over the victim. It is not simply a matter of packing one’s bags and leaving. The abuser has created a situation that makes it difficult to get away. Additionally, victims experience a type of brainwashing or learned helplessness… [Statman, 1990]. …[T]he physically abusive behavior does not often manifest itself until after the marriage or intimate relationship has been established. In many cases, the violent behavior develops or increases in intensity with a woman’s pregnancy (Jerierski, 1994). [unpaginated webpage]

Bobbi’s husband took an interest in driving commercial trucks. She paid for his training and then relocated with him to Macon, Georgia when he was employed by a Southern trucking company. She was now unemployed and her husband was the sole financial provider. The shift in finances seemed to bring out her husband’s worst. She recalled the snowy winter when she was pregnant with her second child. Bobbi and her young son were in the cabin of her husband’s truck. Her husband was driving along I-75. Suddenly he began hitting her. She screamed for him to stop hitting her in front of her son and that his blows would injure her unborn child. He pulled to the shoulder of the interstate and ejected her and her child. “He wouldn’t give my purse, the baby’s bags, or nothing.” He then pulled off leaving them standing in the embanked snow. A concerned passerby took the pregnant Bobbi and her son to a women’s shelter. There, she contacted her mother and in matter of days she was on a bus back to Tallahassee. Bobbi’s husband remained in Georgia seemingly unconcerned about what had happened to his family. Bobbi moved in with her mother, secured employment and lived peacefully. Two months after the birth of her second child, a son, she called her husband. He arrived in Tallahassee the following day asking her to return to Georgia. Initially, she refused, but then she acquiesced. Researchers Kathryn Bell and Amy Naugle conducted a behavioral study in an attempt to understand the factors motivating a woman to leave or return to an abusive relationship. In “Understanding Stay/Leave Decisions in Violent Relationships: A Behavior Analytic Approach (2005)” they wrote, “Among the many factors recognized, commitment to the relationship appears to be particularly salient for predicting a victim’s decision to stay in the relationship” [unpaginated webpage]. In addition to continuing to expose herself to violence, Bobbi’s choice to move would later prove fatal for her second born. As a result of moving him while he was too young to travel, he developed asthma. According to her doctor, his body was unable to sufficiently adjust to the different climate and environmental conditions of the Georgian environment. Bobbi’s husband had not beaten her since her return to his home. In describing the cyclical pattern of abuse, psychiatrist Michael G. Conner described this period as the “Honeymoon Phase” (Conner 2007). In his article, “Domestic Violence against Women (2007)” he wrote that among other things, “The batterer…will apologize and ask

54 forgiveness. He will attempt to make up for his behavior and the victim will make a sincere effort to believe the situation will change” [unpaginated webpage]. It was during this time that she conceived her third child. During the ninth month of gestation, her youngest son had an asthmatic seizure and his lungs collapsed. Bobbi’s visiting sister administered artificial respiration until the paramedics arrived. He was rushed to the emergency room. The stress of the ordeal caused Bobbi to enter labor prematurely. Her sister-in-law drove her to the same hospital. Bobbi recalled, “They hit [my daughter] on the rump and she began to cry….” Her husband, her son’s attending physician, the hospital administrator and two nurses then entered Bobbi’s room. The doctor told her that her son had passed. She was inconsolable. Overwhelmed, she passed out. She came to in the recovery room believing she had simply awakened from a nightmare. Her husband confirmed the bad news. She sank into a deep depression. When she and her newborn were physically well enough to travel, she returned to Tallahassee with her children; this time her husband accompanied them. Still psychologically incapacitated, she relied heavily on prescription antidepressants. As her depression lifted she gained clarity and a renewed sense of purpose. Hence, she wanted to live her best life, one which would have made her grandmother proud. She filed for divorce. Her husband, who had not beaten her since their return to Tallahassee, unleashed his fury on learning about the proceedings. “He tried to kill me, but this time I fought back” (Bobbi, Personal interview by author, July 30, 2005). She pointed to the scars on her forearms which served not only to remind of his savagery, but also her determination to live. The divorce was finalized and her life seemed to be on track. However, the successive deaths of her favorite uncle and aunt caused her to fall, again, into a depression. She began drinking heavily. “I was always in the bottle,” she said. Without much time for recovery, her stepfather, whom she dearly loved, died. It was then that she began using cocaine. Because the cost of powder cocaine is significantly greater than crack, she needed a means of sustaining the very expensive habit. Selling cocaine provided her with quick access to the money and the drug. She indulged and conducted business in Frenchtown.

55 Bobbi, still in the midst of addiction, met the man who would eventually become her second husband. He was a casual drinker and not given to Bobbi’s excesses; however, he developed a deep concern for Bobbi and her children. He followed Bobbi home after she had spent the night binge-drinking and snorting. She awoke the next morning to find him sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed. The children had been dressed and fed. Bobbi had not experienced that kind of devotion since her grandmother’s passing. So inspired by his generosity of spirit, she continued seeing him and married him the following year. Bobbi’s life was on an upswing. She ceased selling cocaine and abstained from drug and alcohol use. She and her husband also began attending church. She flourished, as she had returned once again to her roots. However, dissension in her church community resulted in dissolution. The pastor abandoned the remainder of his flock, and his desertion proved too much for Bobbi. She relapsed. Her husband knew there was little he could do to curtail her substance abuse. Hence, he began purchasing weekly supplies of cocaine, beer and liquor. Although he could not prevent her use, he knew he could control where she used. The clubs and streets of Frenchtown were dangerous and he feared for her safety. Bobbi recalled the night she had snorted $400 worth of cocaine and drank excessive amounts of alcohol. The mix of the stimulant and depressant drugs made Bobbi uncomfortably high. She was exhausted, but unable to sleep. She sat in bed next to her sleeping husband in a state of misery. In spite of this, her cravings were unrelenting. She described the cravings as tormenting demons. “The demons kept telling me to get up, get some money and call the dope man.” Quietly she crawled out of bed and onto the floor. On her hands and knees, she silently wept and prayed, “…God if you get me off this high…if you let me sleep, I promise I will serve you until the day I die. I just need to sleep” (Bobbi, Personal interview by author, July 30, 2005). Her prayer was answered, and she slept until late the next morning. It was Sunday and everyone in the house was still in bed. She arose and walked down to Katrina’s house. Katrina, who will be discussed in Chapter Three, was also a Beracha participant and recovering addict. Bobbi explained to her the events of the previous night, and declared she was tired of living in chaos. Katrina began inviting

56 Bobbi to attend church services at Turning Point International Church as well as the Mothers in Crisis drug support group meetings. Bobbi began pursuing matters of faith with the same fervor she had used drugs. Her pursuit eventually led her to join Beracha. Alexia Jones founded Beracha in 1995 and began working with the women of Mothers in Crisis in an unofficial capacity in 1997. She conducted her sessions on Saturdays at the Turning Point International Church—2015 Holton Street in the Bond Community of Tallahassee. The church space was outfitted with an altar as well as chairs that could be easily stacked. Therefore, the adaptable space and its wood floors made the location ideal for Jones’ dance classes. The majority of the women who found support through Alexia Jones’ Beracha Dance Institute of Mothers in Crisis (Beracha) were African-American. Jones felt compelled to work with women because she could strongly identify with their struggles. She, too, was once addicted to a powerful substance, powder cocaine. However, she also understood their other issues. Jones, like many of her clients/dancers, was a mother surviving on a limited income. She also knew the pain of being disregarded on the basis of her skin color. Trust was easily established because their similarities—black, mothers, economically challenged—served as a touchstone. For her clients, Jones was proof that their respective goals of perpetual sobriety could be achieved. Jones’ skin was brown and smooth. Her teeth were straight and white. Five feet and six inches tall, her posture was ramrod straight; which spoke to both her background in dance and her being reared as an “Army brat.” Her emphasis on hygiene was apparent. Her appearance belied a past addiction to cocaine. They quickly came to understand that Jones believed it was her unshakable faith in God that kept her sober, and allowed her to take care of her daughter and herself. Lydia and Rhea were introduced to Alexia Jones and Beracha through Mothers in Crisis (MIC). Their entrée to MIC was through the weekly drug support group meetings. Both women spoke of the impact the meetings had on changing their views about addiction as a life-long burden. Rosalind Tompkins, founder of MIC and group meeting facilitator always ended the two-hour session with words of encouragement. These words mostly were sermons based on Biblical doctrine. They planted the seeds of healing. The women wanted to ensure the germination of these seeds, so they sought out

57 other faith-based activities. Hence, they began attending Sunday services at Turning Point International Church (TPIC) which was affiliated with MIC. Tracy and Bobbi learned of Beracha from through their attendance at TPIC. All four women relied on the week’s activities—whether with MIC or TPIC—to keep their minds off of drugs. For Lydia, Tuesday was the day she volunteered with Jones and the children’s group, as is discussed below. Wednesday the women attended Bible Study. Thursday evenings they faithfully attended the drug support group meeting which was held at the Holton Street location. Friday evenings they attended the weekly prayer service. As Rhea stated, “Every time the doors of the church opened, I was there” (Rhea, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). However, Saturday was problematic for all of the women. This day represented one that was previously given to bingeing on drugs and alcohol. Lydia was one of the first women to begin dancing with Alexia Jones. Jones, who also headed the youth drug-prevention program at MIC, would often include dance in her curriculum. All four of Lydia’s children were participants in the program, so Lydia was ever-present. Soon Jones appointed Lydia to assist her with the youth. Lydia stated, “I was always there anyway, and I always wanted to study dance. So I would get up and learn the dances right along with the kids” (Lydia, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). Jones invited Lydia to attend Saturday sessions, which were set aside for Beracha dance classes and rehearsals. Lydia found that the sessions left her feeling invigorated. She had found an activity that suited her needs, and allowed her time to interact with other women. Some of the women were recovering addicts, others were not. Lydia explored movement, faith and friendship on the other side of addiction. What is more she found a positive distraction for her Saturdays. “By the time dance practice was over,” she reported, “it was time to make dinner, shower, and get ready for church the next day” (Lydia, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2005). As Beracha’s popularity rapidly spread, Tompkins allowed Jones to continue her work with the women. Tracy and Rhea, as well as several other women in recovery began to regularly attend Saturday sessions. As Jones proceeded she began to recognize the significant impact the biblically rooted dance program was having on the women who participated.

58 Jones expanded and tailored her work so that it could meet the needs of the majority in attendance. The elements of her Saturday sessions included: prayer, a warm- up, across-the-floor progressions (movement used to travel from one side of the space to the other), and a short dance routine that was created by Jones or one that was directed by Jones and created by the women. Regardless of the source of movement, it was always undergirded by Christian doctrine—both the Old and New Testaments. The scriptures used would vary depending on the needs of her group. For example, women in their early stages of recovery would often have vivid dreams in which they were smoking crack. They feared that these dreams would trigger a relapse. One of many scriptures Jones would quote under these circumstances is the book of Philippians 4:6-7: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Jones’ goals were to encourage the development of the women’s faith, improve their physical condition, and to provide the women with a creative outlet for their stress. In the process of achieving these goals the women learned that faith in God, dance and the support from other members of Beracha all contributed to their ability to live free of addiction. Jones’ work with Beracha is reflective of the Kung healing dances and early and contemporary Christian dance ministry in that the structure emphasized community and faith. Whether they shared a history of addiction or not, these women all drew strength from their faith and mutual support and were wholly invigorated by the movement they danced. “One can say [dance] is safe, and yet the paradox is that it is more direct. [Dance] moves into the body and works on a kinesthetic level to open up blocked feelings and to give access to repressed memories (Warpa 1994, 79).” Victoria Slager, founder of transformational Soul Dancing (1998) called dance the “truth revealing language of the body.” She wrote, “The Body gets a workout/The Mind gets a clearing out/The soul gets a calling out/The three join in the dance and discover they are One” (Soul Dancing 1). Jones’ use of dance as a healing tool with the women of Beracha yielded results that could not have been attained through team sport participation or through a mere shared exercise experience. Because the majority of the women were in poor health as a result of their addictions, they needed a blending of mild cardiovascular

59 activity interchanged with periods of rest, as well as time to emotionally and spiritually digest the concepts Jones shared. In creating her method, it was Jones’ intent to make dance an accessible activity for these women. The classes did not require any specific level of endurance or skill. However, through consistent participation the women’s physical conditions improved. In addition, the environment was supportive rather than competitive. The women needed nurturing and Jones provided this through the sessions. Bobbi spoke of her experience with Jones and Beracha: The first two Saturdays that I came…when I tell you…it was awful because I hurt and was so sore. I couldn’t lift my leg, I couldn’t sit Indian-style, I couldn’t touch my toes…. So this one Saturday I came, I told Alexia, “I ain’t going to do everything. I can’t do all this stuff!” Alexia looked at me… and said, “You know what? I’m so tired of you coming in here talking about what you can’t do…. I keep telling you, you can do anything you want to, if you trust and believe in yourself and trust God to help you. I don’t want to hear it no more. Now get out there on the floor and do what you gotta do!” So that day I did it and I didn’t hurt. I went through the whole thing! Ever since, I’ve been in Beracha. [Alexia] has taught me so much. That I’ve got to believe in myself and trust that whatever I desire to do I can do it if I just step out there on faith. And when I joined Beracha it was a faith thing because I figured big (overweight) people just can’t get out there and do all that stuff…. (Bobbi, Personal interview by author, July 30, 2005)

As aforementioned, the activity was not constant, therefore, there was time for the women to process—verbally or physically—the emotions that surfaced as a result of their dancing. Prayer was also an essential element of these sessions. Dance researcher Sarah Cook conducted a study at the University of Sheffield in the United Kingdom concerning the usefulness of dance for mental patients (2004). Nineteen women participated in the dance workshops. “Ms. Cook said all the dancers said they had felt ‘positively transformed’ by the dancing. She said: ‘Dancers reported the experience involved a sense of bursting, or liberation, release of built up feelings and of relief’” (Jackson 2004) [unpaginated webpage]. Cook also found “…[d]ance [was] a way of dealing with feelings and releasing them, instead of locking them in….” (Ibid.). Jones’ efforts also yielded similar results. Like a dance therapist, Jones used dance to exorcise the demons of addiction and guided the women through their personal journeys of healing the damage that instigated their addictions.

60 During the same period when Jones was establishing her program, British researchers and dance therapists, Lucy Goodison and Helen Schafer were also beginning to explore the effectiveness of dance as a treatment for drug addiction. In the late 1990s they brought the idea of drug treatment through dance to the “detox unit” of Holloway Prison in Great Britain. Their observations of the imprisoned women struck a chord of familiarity. They found that drug use was an outgrowth of deeper underlying problems. Goodison and Schafer wrote: “[The women] are aware of the irony of being punished for the symptom rather than being treated for the cause of their addiction. ‘They never ask you why you take the stuff in the first place,’ one of the young women told us. Histories of childhood abuse, neglect, domestic violence and rape slip out between the shoulder roll and the neck stretch” (Goodison and Schafer 1999). Although a preexisting trauma is not always the underlying impetus for drug addiction, Jones, like Goodison and Schafer, found this to be a common thread. Goodison and Schafer’s work is distinguished from Jones’s Beracha, the Kung healing dances, Christian dance, and dance therapy as it was discussed in Chapter One, because they did not emphasize the spiritual aspect of healing dance. However, their goals and methods generated positive results. Their work is important to this discussion because Goodison and Schafer specifically linked the concepts of dance therapy and drug treatment. They wrote: The aim is to raise self-esteem through an improved relationship with the body, giving the women strength to help combat their habit. … As well as triggering memories of earlier, healthier body experiences, there are other positive side- effects: a short phase of energetic movement allows the women to relax more fully, and learning exercises for legs and back can help relieve the aching which often accompanies withdrawal. The starting point for the session is the women themselves, and dance therapy can be tailored to different personalities and problems. Many of the women are rave veterans; some have trained in dance, while others claim to have two left feet but move beautifully. We get away from the ‘physical jerks’ mentality and encourage them to treat their bodies gently rather than pushing them. We use collaboration as co-leaders to offer physical models of co-operation and mutual support: leaning, supporting, making movements that match or complement each other. Some sequences develop focus, with gaze and body moving slowly and purposefully in the same direction. These physical models are a metaphor for everyday behaviour. (Goodison and Schafer 1999, 28-29)

61 Goodison and Schafer demonstrated the effectiveness of dance therapy as a treatment for drug addiction. Their work showed that dance is a medium that can expand movement vocabulary and improve self-esteem and body image. In addition, it can encourage the development of effective communication skills and relationships. The psychological benefits include providing insight into patterns of behavior, as well as creating new options for coping with problems. The expansion of movement vocabulary is of particular interest to the writer. For the participants of the Holloway program who were rave veterans or formally trained dancers, dance was part of their lives of as addicts. Goodison and Schafer reshaped the familiar contexts of dance, thereby giving it new associations and the women new movement experiences. Similarly, prior to the establishment of Beracha, Jones associated dance with professional performance and club dancing. It was through her personal journey through recovery from addiction that she discovered the healing power of faith driven dance. Chapter Three explores her discovery. Further, the chapter discusses how Jones used her subsequently developed method of dance to help women purge the anguish that surrounded addiction by giving them the tools to transform themselves into spiritually renewed beings who were sounder in mind and body.

CHAPTER THREE

A PATH TO WHOLENESS

This chapter studies the role dance played in Alexia Jones’ physical, spiritual and emotional recovery from cocaine addiction. Correspondingly, an exploration of the development of Beracha provides the context for her work with women in recovery from drug addiction. A subsequent examination of Jones’ choreography chronicles the creation of two of her principle works and the impact these works—from creation to performance—had on the women with whom she worked. Throughout Jones’ life, dance had been a constant source of pleasure and fulfillment. She began studying dance at the age of seven while living with her family in Hanau, Germany, where her father, a member of the United States Army, was stationed. She continued her private dance studies on her family’s return to the Atlanta, Georgia area. In addition, when Jones was in junior high school, she and her friends established what she a called “a pop-locking dance group.” Pop-locking is a street dance style that falls under the umbrella of break dancing. The beginnings of break dancing go back to the ancient dance traditions of West Africa. When these dances were brought to New York by African dancers in the late 1960s young people started imitating the steps. Because there was interest in these dances, the recording artist Afrika Bambaataa started the Zulu Kings in 1969. The Kings were the first crew of the Zulu Nation, a group of dancers, graffiti artists, and rap musicians from the Bronx. Many of the members belonged to gangs, and the Bambaataa encouraged them to settle their fights with dance-battles instead of physical battles…. The person who staged the best fight moves in sync with the music and who received the loudest cheers won the fight. (Dunahoo 1985, 1)

Jones’ group, outfitted in the requisite baggy pants and contrastingly fitted tops, performed frequently and won numerous talent shows. Jones’ mother supported her dance involvement with the popular street-based styles, but also sought out a place where Jones could revisit her formal dance training. Jones soon began studying at the Dance Consortium with the instructor and owner, Annette Lewis. During a telephone conversation on August 21, 2007, Jones stated that Lewis was determined to give her

students a well-rounded and thorough dance training experience. Through the Consortium, Jones also studied with several artists from notable national and international dance companies. She remained with Lewis until she graduated from high school. That same summer she auditioned for and was selected to be among the top 27 dancers participating in the State of Georgia’s Governor’s Honors Program in Valdosta, Georgia. She trained in Valdosta for the balance of the summer, and then entered Florida State University’s Department of Dance program in the Fall term of 1981. In addition to enjoyment, Jones’ dancing provided a welcome escape from her father’s rampant and harsh criticism. Her father, who retired from the U.S. Army in the rank of Master Sergeant, served with the Special Forces Airborne Unit. He fought in the Korean War and did two tours of duty in Vietnam. He was a paratrooper and therefore required to parachute into enemy territories; as expected, stress was a constant. His anger and irritability, which manifested itself as verbal abuse, could be attributed to his inability to cope with the traumatic stress he endured during his military career. With her home life being far from tranquil, Jones’ attending Florida State in Tallahassee seemed ideal. Not only would she be putting distance between her and her father, but Jones would also be studying at one of the nation’s top university dance programs. However, her wholehearted desire was to remain in Georgia and attend the historically black Spelman College. Further, as was discussed earlier, being in the racially tense environment at the university was emotionally taxing. Hence she sought out comfort, and she found it while dancing as a member of Florida A&M University’s Orchesis Contemporary Dance Company. Jones recalled how she and the other African- American undergraduate dance majors would walk from FSU’s Montgomery Gym to FAMU’s Gaither Athletic Complex where Orchesis was headquartered. Jones stated that she fully enjoyed being able to perform and tour with the FAMU dancers, as she felt unwelcome, even when offered performance opportunities, within the dance department. During this same period Jones also took comfort in marijuana use and club dancing. She stated that after leaving dance rehearsal, she and her friends would go to the club and dance and smoke into the wee hours. Soon her lifestyle of frequent drug use and clubbing began to negatively impact her studies in the dance program, as well as in her general education classes. In 1984, she flunked out of the program and the university.

After her return to Decatur in 1986, she began experimenting with cocaine, and embarked on a journey of habitual use that would last for seven years. Even though she was driven by addiction, she desired to break free from cocaine’s grasp. She thought a change of environment would be beneficial in her efforts to stop using the narcotic. So in 1992 she moved to Nassau, Bahamas. Jones found the ocean views inspiring, and was beginning to feel she could change her compulsive behaviors. Yet, her island serenity was fated to end. On August 14, 1992 storm watchers noted a disturbance brewing in the Atlantic Ocean. By August 16th, Jones had solidified plans to evacuate, and flew out of the airport with the now formed Hurricane Andrew close behind. She arrived in Miami with the intention of flying on to Atlanta. However, the ferocious Andrew pummeled southern Dade County, Florida, making travel impossible. She remained in Miami for two months, after which she finally flew home. As if the familiar surroundings of Decatur, Georgia ignited a flame of remembrance, Jones returned to her habitual use of cocaine. During this tumultuous period, Jones conceived her daughter. Her discovery of her pregnancy awakened her to new hope, and she was determined to change her behaviors so that her baby could survive. Still, she walked a tightrope that divided fear and optimism. Although she believed she now possessed the strength to abstain, Jones was terrified that she had already unwittingly injured her baby by using cocaine. All she could do was wait until her daughter was born; and that she did. Relief flooded Jones when she gave birth to her baby—ten little fingers and ten little toes, and no cocaine in her system. Jones knew her life had to be dedicated to providing her child with love and security. To improve her odds, Jones moved away from the environment that she had so strongly linked with cocaine addiction, and returned to Tallahassee, Florida in 1994. There, she moved in with a former boyfriend and rekindled their relationship. However, much to Jones’ chagrin, this man was a cocaine dealer. Hence, she had moved into the lap of temptation with her infant daughter in tow. Jones had learned that her friend and former drug partner, Rosalind Tompkins, was still living in Tallahassee, so Jones called her. At the time of Jones’ call, Tompkins was in Seattle, Washington; when she returned and listened to the telephone message, she

had mixed emotions. Although she was happy to hear from Jones, Tompkins was initially apprehensive about seeing her. In an interview Tompkins recalled: I don’t know how much clean time I had…. I know our relationship used to be based on drugs and I didn’t want to get into a situation where I would even be tempted to use. So I just prayed about it. And then I called her…and went to see [Alexia] and her baby…who was four months old. (Rosalind Tompkins, Personal interview by author, July 29, 2005)

During that visit Tompkins told Jones about her organization, Mothers in Crisis, and its weekly drug support group meetings. Jones agreed to attend and found the gatherings to be beneficial. In her book, As Long As There is Breath in Your Body, There is Hope (2003), Tompkins wrote about Jones’ steps towards recovery: Alexia…would often talk about her relationship with her boyfriend. She was planning to marry him for the sake of her baby girl, but she didn’t seem too happy about it. One day while visiting Alexia in her home, she was busy in her kitchen and her daughter was asleep. I was sitting at the dining room table when I asked her if she was in love with her boyfriend. She just stood there for a long period of time and didn’t answer me. I could tell that my question caught her off guard and also made her think. When I realized she couldn’t answer the question, I asked her why in the world she would marry someone that she didn’t love. I believe that was the beginning of the end of her relationship with her boyfriend. Alexia finally realized that she and her daughter deserved more. Her boyfriend… began leaving drugs around the house even though he knew Alexia was trying to stop using. Alexia was still drinking beer occasionally and it was only a matter of time before she picked up and used cocaine again. Everything came to a head for Alexia one Wednesday night…. She…and her daughter were at the police station because she and her boyfriend had gotten into a fight. I went to the police station and picked them up and brought them to my house…. It was during that period of time that Alexia truly entered recovery and began to dance. (132-137)

As Jones renewed her life, dance became synonymous with prayer and praise. Not only did it become the instrument that strengthened her Christian faith and her connection to God, but it also became a means of survival and restoration. In her instructional manual, “Dancing with the Holy Spirit: A Manual for the Dancer Who Desires More” (2001), she wrote: I came to understand why God established dance in my life when I began my recovery from cocaine addiction. During my early stages of recovery, I would

dance to usher in the presence of God during my prayer time…. On this journey I discovered that praise brings healing, revelation, and wars against the powers of darkness. (1)

For Jones, dance was a life affirming ritual—reflective of a sentiment shared in much of the Kung society, “...[b]eing at a dance makes our hearts happy” (Katz Boiling Energy 35). Jones wrote, “…I understand what it means to have a need to express how we feel through dance. No words are used and the mind, body, and soul are free to be naked before our God” (Jones Dancing 1). Hence, her ability to combine spirituality with cathartic movement allowed her to access healing. Jones’ discoveries echo the ideas of Anna Halprin in Dance as a Healing Art. Halprin wrote, “[T]o heal is to operate on many dimensions simultaneously, by aiming at attaining a state of emotional, mental, spiritual, and physical health. Healing also addresses the psychological dimension and works with belief systems…” (14-15). Mike Samuels, M.D., is a colleague and supporter of Halprin, and the founder and director of Art as a Healing Force, a networking organization that places artists (i.e. dancers, visual artists, poets, musicians, storytellers) into hospital Arts in Medicine programs in the state of Florida. The program is for children and adults with cancer. Samuels believes art, spirituality and healing are intrinsically linked. In his essay, “Dance as a Healing Force,” which is published in Halprin’s Dance as a Healing Art he wrote, “In an age where art has become decorative and lost its spiritual meaning, in an age where medicine has lost its connection to the heart and the intuitive spirit, art and healing can be reunited through ritual to become one again” (159). Samuel’s use of the term “ritual” is a fitting description of Jones’ process which led to her transformation. Around the time of Jones’ discovery of the healing properties of dance, she had returned to Tallahassee and was living in the home of her long time friend Rosalind Tompkins. Every morning after Tompkins and her daughter left for work and school, respectively, Jones would turn the living room into a ceremonial dance space (Tompkins 2005, 58). Her daughter, a peaceful observer, reclined in a carrier on the floor; her Bible and journal were at hand; the music of choice extolled the virtues of God and the benefits of having a relationship with Him. It was in this setting that she danced wholeheartedly, without censure. In the safety of that large room she gained the courage

to face aspects of her past that haunted her. Through the ritual of dance she began to rewrite her story—the story of a woman who was held captive by her addiction to cocaine, but in the end had escaped. Jones wrote, “All I wanted was to be free” (Jones 2001, 1). She explained why her danced worship was an effective and crucial tool of her recovery. “God uses the art of dance as a tool to bring down strongholds, deliver, set free and heal the broken hearted” (1). In the following quote, Mike Samuels, M.D. also underscored the notion that art combined with spirituality can bring about healing: Art, prayer and healing; all come from the same source—the human soul. The energy that fuels these processes is the basic force of life, of creativity, of love.... We are connected to the soul of God in the deepest marrow of our being…. I believe that the voices of the inner world speak to us in a language most similar to art. It is below words, above silence, and close to poetry…. Art and ritual are voices of the spirit. They are the energy of healing. Art and healing are lovers, tied together with a silver thread and bound irreversibly through time. (Halprin 2000, 159)

During Jones’ cloistered, transformative period she chose “Beracha” as the name of the ministry she would soon develop. It is named for the Valley of Beracha which is mentioned in the Old Testament of the Bible in the book, Second Chronicles chapter 20 verse 26. As described in verses 22-26, the people of “Judah and Jerusalem” sang and praised God, and he caused their enemies to destroy themselves. Afterward, the victorious people gathered in the Valley of Beracha and exalted God. For Jones, the Valley of Beracha represents the victorious outcomes that are generated through praise. Moreover, she describes the chronicle as “a perfect picture of how…praise is a weapon of warfare against the enemy…” (Jones 2001, 10). Warfare was an apt metaphor for Beracha’s ministry and choreography. As a woman who was in her early stages of sobriety, Jones understood that breaking free from the cycle of addiction was a battle that would have to be fought with unwavering resolve. She also understood that to triumph over addiction, transformation of the mind, body, and spirit would be essential. Hence, the revelations that Jones received from the scriptures and her ritual were that praise and worship bring victory, and that dance engages the whole being—mind, body and spirit— in the process of praise and worship, and recovery (1). She diligently continued in her practice, all the while carrying the seed of Beracha like a baby in her womb.

As Jones gained a more solid footing concerning her recovery, she expanded her audience. Although she remained faithful in her private worship of God through dance, she soon began to travel with the Mothers in Crisis’ prison ministry team as a minister of dance. This team was composed of Rosalind Tompkins, ordained minister and founder of Mothers in Crisis, and a select group of women who had also successfully overcome substance addiction. They would travel to prisons in Tallahassee and surrounding areas sharing their personal stories of addiction and deliverance through their belief in Jesus Christ. These visits were, for all intents and purposes, church services. The meetings included a dance presentation and a sermon. Jones’ dance would always precede the sermon. Within this context, Jones became a herald with a visual message. She called this use of dance a “demonstration” of God’s word (Jones 2001, 4). In her manual, “Dancing with the Holy Spirit,” she wrote, “There are some people who will be drawn by the arts because they are visual learners. They believe and receive what they see” (4). Rev. Dr. Constance McIntyre, founder of the JEDAH (Liturgical) Dance Company echoed Jones’ belief in her article, “Dance: Is It for the Church or Not?” McIntyre wrote, “The dance…reach[es] those…that might not necessarily receive and retain the message audibly but will receive and retain from visual aid, the dance” (McIntyre August 1995). Jones’ dances illustrated the idea of liberation through faith and perseverance. Her dances did not specifically address overcoming the perils of addiction. However, it was Jones’ custom to share a portion of her story as it pertained to her recovery from cocaine addiction. This was particularly important because a significant number of the incarcerated populations the ministry team addressed were convicted of drug related offenses and struggled with substance abuse. Further, the majority of the convicted drug offenders were African-American women (Meierhoefer 1992, 20). Hence, her dances were colored by her testimony and carried a two tiered message. Naturally the overarching message focused on God’s munificence. Yet, the message—particularly poignant for substance addicted inmates—was that they, too, like Jones could experience freedom from their compulsions. Jones’ dance movements personified liberation for her audience.

Jones’ participation with Mothers in Crisis’ prison outreach efforts allowed her repeated visits to the various institutions. Hence, more often than not the assembly knew Jones would dance. Further, the attending population would express excitement when Jones was presented. Her dancing provided many of the inmates the opportunity to participate in her devout expression. This involvement would manifest in physical responses like crying, needing to stand, and swaying with the music. These kinds of reactions to viewing dance are pointed out by Margaret Fisk Taylor in A Time to Dance. She wrote that even when they were seated, audience members could have a kinesthetic reaction to danced movement (Taylor 1967, 9). Jones began to fully acknowledge the impact that worshipful dance had on her transformation. She also began to recognize the effect it was having on the people who observed her. This was a beginning. From these observations the idea and mission of Beracha began to take shape. Using Christian dance she would point others towards sobriety. Although she was a trained dancer she was confident that she could develop an approach to dance that would be accessible to anyone, regardless of their lack of knowledge of codified dance forms. Jones’ dedication to her work with the prison ministry was parlayed into a paid position on the Mothers in Crisis staff. Her most significant role was as the teacher/ facilitator for the Kids in Partnership Program (KIPP)—a drug abstinence program for the children of addicted parents. The children who participated in this program were between the ages of five and 18. All of them were well acquainted with the drug culture. Some were being raised by extended families or foster parents because their parents were still being consumed by their addictions. Others were a part of households in which one parent was newly “clean” and the other parent was still using. The children’s exposure to drugs via their parents’ behaviors placed them at a high risk for drug use. Therefore, Jones was careful to point out potential pitfalls through frank conversation and an anti- drug curriculum. Jones used dance to reinforce her lessons. She also found dance a cathartic tool which allowed her pupils to positively channel their emotions and energy. In 1999 Jones choreographed a dance entitled New Direction to the contemporary gospel song of the same title. The lyrics were representative of Jones’ goal for her young dancers:

I’m headed in a new direction I’ve been that way; I’m going the other way. I’m headed in a new direction I don’t want to go that same old way… (New Direction composed by Charlie Miller)

She gave them movement that was an amalgamation of pantomime, modern dance, jazz dance and traditional African techniques. Her students, in turn, embraced the dance and the song. It became their anthem and proclamation that drugs would never be an option. Jones chose the 1999 Urban Bush Women/Florida State University Summer Dance Institute’s (SDI) closing performance to debut her children’s piece. The dance was well received. Prior to this summer event, the children, the pioneering members of Beracha, had never danced in a secular setting. They had always danced in church settings. Although Mothers in Crisis was not established as a Christian organization, it was well known that its founder, staff and the majority of the clients were of the Christian faith. Any presentation that Jones’ Beracha made was, by design, before like-spirited audiences. The SDI performance brought her group before an audience with varied religious beliefs. Still the audience found something with which to connect. Certainly the music carried a positive message. Also, it is difficult not to be inspired by youth engaged in a positive activity. Or perhaps it is simply dance’s ability to appeal to the masses. Anna Halprin wrote of the accessibility of dance as a language with broad appeal: In dance all the arts are engaged. By experiencing this integration through dance, we can also experience the artist as a whole integrated person. We are all artists by nature and do not need years of specialized training to be dance-artists. We all move, respond, feel, and create. This is the basic belief in this approach to expressive movement: it is inclusive. Everyone can do it. (Halprin 2000, 29)

The accessibility of dance was not lost on Beracha’s first adult member in recovery from drug addiction. Lydia, who was introduced in Chapter Two, has four children—two boys and two girls. All of them actively participated in KIPP. She encouraged this participation and also took part as a parent volunteer. Lydia felt it especially important to do what she could to counteract the negative influence her husband represented. He was still using crack cocaine and living in the home. His presence was detrimental because he was a reminder of her not-so-distant past. After a

binge he would return home smelling of crack smoke, nicotine and alcohol. These smells alone were enough to ignite her desire to use. For this reason, her volunteerism simultaneously encouraged her children to continue on a life affirming path, while providing her with the positive reinforcement that she sorely needed. In an interview she remarked, “Because I was assisting Alexia, I was already there during the [children’s] rehearsals. I just started joining in. The children would giggle and say, ‘Ooo! Look at [Ms. Lydia]!’ But I kept going” (Lydia, Personal interview by author, August 6, 2004). The experiences were beneficial. As Margaret Fisk Taylor wrote in A Time to Dance, “Creative dramatic movement offers assistance to individuals in finding themselves and in formulating their heaven-earth philosophy, for it helps them to stand straight in the midst of confusion and to move with resiliency when surrounded by pressures” (Taylor 1967, 8). Jones held regular Saturday dance classes for the Beracha youth. The majority of the children who attended the weekend sessions were not only participants of the KIPP abstinence program, but also were members of Turning Point International Church (TPIC) once it was established in 1998. Tompkins founded TPIC with the women and families in recovery in mind. She knew that the clients of Mothers in Crisis often felt uncomfortable attending services at various Tallahassee churches. Often these mothers, their children and husbands lacked proper church attire; which in most environments meant conservative dresses and suits. However, the TPIC policy was “come as you are.” Tompkins’ sole focus, as the senior pastor, was restoring her drug ravaged congregation with the “Word of God.” During services, the Beracha youth often had an opportunity to perform, or “minister in the dance” (Jones 2001, 14). Saturdays were often used to prepare. Jones soon established an adult dance class for the women recuperating from drug and alcohol addiction. The class immediately followed the youth’s Saturday session. The invitation to participate was open to the women from Mothers in Crisis, members of TPIC who were not former addicts, as well as Jones’ friends and acquaintances from other local churches. The sessions gained and maintained popularity. This motley group of women shared the need for restoration. Jones recalled a statement made by one of her

adult students, “We are all in recovery from something.” They all found healing in the dance. The women who were fighting to overcome addiction learned that they were not alone in their struggles. The weekly sessions provided a means of emotional and spiritual support. Further, it gave them an opportunity to encourage others in attendance to maintain their sobriety. The women developed meaningful and positive connections as a result of these classes. Hence, Saturdays provided the women an opportunity to develop friendships with like-minded women who adhered to Christian principles. Those who did not have a history of addiction played a significant role in expanding this new, safe network. This was important because those in recovery had to sever ties with the people, places and things connected to addiction. The blending of those with and without issues concerning drugs and alcohol proved beneficial for all of the participants. As opportunities presented themselves, they could support each other with movement, dance in unison, or dance independently with the support and reassurance of the other dancers. In gaining the boldness to support and be supported whether physically, emotionally or spiritually, they discovered the power and strength they possessed. Those in recovery learned that they had the potential to live free of chemical dependencies. All of the women learned that dance was a metaphor for communal life. In 2002, Jones’ dance ministry, Beracha, officially became the Beracha Dance Institute of Mothers in Crisis (MIC). In this capacity, Beracha served as the Christian, artisitic and therapeutic arm of MIC. Although the Institute was then recognized as a program under the auspices of MIC, Jones’ work and goals remained the same. She had long since learned through personal experience, as well as through her work with the women battling the cycle of drug abuse, that dance, when used in conjunction with Christian theology, was a powerful instrument. She found it could penetrate and truly engage every aspect of the addicted individual. Jones employed her personal understanding of the anatomy of addiction. She also drew on her extensive clinical training gained through the Department of Children and Families in the areas of substance abuse prevention, intervention and treatment. She combined this knowledge with her belief that true deliverance from chemical dependency

required a course of action that took into account the preexisting factors that contributed to the women’s choice to compulsively self-medicate (e.g. sexual abuse, loss, mental illness). In her work with the women in recovery, she believed dance to be an effective means of guiding her dancers through their individual processes. This enabled them to confront the different facets of recovery, as mentioned above. The Saturday classes provided a safe place for the Beracha participants to physically and spiritually express the inexpressible concerning their past traumas. In Dance Therapy Redefined (1994), dance therapists and researchers, Johanna Exiner and Denis Kelynack wrote: This, we propose is dance therapy in the truest sense. As dance is therapy and the instrument the body, it is the physicality of dance on which we focus. We do this by working towards physical changes as an integral part of change in the whole person (xiii).

THE CREATIVE PROCESS OF ALEXIA L. JONES

From 2002-2004, this writer engaged in first-hand observations of movement classes, workshop sessions, group pieces, Jones’ solo works, and recordings. It was Jones’ intent to create meaningful and communicative works. In order to measure the works’/movements’ substantive value, I analyzed Jones’ movement vocabulary and choreographic structural elements. Observations provided insights into how participants’ execution of dance/movement in class and in performance affected them physiologically, psychologically and spiritually. In addition, I examined the impact Jones’ work had on the audience. As an observer of both live and recorded performances, I noted the audience members’ reactions—including verbal and nonverbal vocalizations, displays of emotion and somatic responses. The session always began with prayer to “welcome the healing presence of the Lord” (Jones 2). The prayer could take the form of spoken supplication, with the group linked hand in hand; or it could be a danced prayer, which employed a type of physical call-and-response. During one such physical prayer, Jones danced to contemporary Gospel group Kirk Franklin and The Family’s “Now Behold the Lamb (1995). Each phrase of movement coincided with the phrasing of the lyrics:

Now behold the Lamb The precious Lamb of God Born into sin that I may live again The precious Lamb of God.

She bent her torso to the left then circled her arms up and over from left to right in succession. She repeated the movement tracing a circle from right to left. She turned clockwise completing two slow revolutions, then swept her arms forward and up while lifting her sternum and face skyward. After each movement the group reciprocated (Workshop observation, July 13, 2004). Prayer was followed by a warm-up. Jones often followed a structure common to many dance technique classes, leading the participants in a series of cardiovascular and stretching exercises. This portion of the class would allow the dancers to release the week’s pent up emotions and frustrations, thus providing a healthy option to self- medication with drugs. The women were allowed through movement—whether vigorous or flowing—to temporarily lay aside their burdened realities, and enjoy two hours of safety, far away from the temptation to use drugs. In her work with the women in recovery, Jones often found they lacked self- esteem, had poor health, and sometimes suffered mental and/or physical impairments as a result of drug use. Dance was empowering because it gave the women an awareness of their vitality. Further, it provided an immediate sense of accomplishment, and a natural high. Dance, like other strenuous physical activity, triggers the release of hormones like dopamine and adrenaline. These are linked with feelings of positive emotion, or the exhilaration that encourages healing (Smith [unpaginated web page]; Sachs 1973, 3). One might say that this is the biological equivalent of what the Kung people describe as n|om coursing through the body. As stated earlier, the Kung believe that dancing vigorously and singing passionately can cause n|om to boil. When it is activated, it travels up the spine and out the fingers where it is released by the laying on of hands (Katz, et al. xiii) . When the dancers’ bodies were sufficiently warmed and stretched, Jones began across-the-floor progressions or “locomotor movements.” Progressions “…include any movement of the entire body through a direction in space” (Kraines and Kan, 1983, 22). Jones usually had the participants move diagonally across the floor from one corner to

another while executing a phrase of movement. She would either teach a specific sequence of dance steps, or lead the women through guided improvisational exercises that were driven by music or scripture. The purpose of the progressions was to allow the dancers to lose their inhibitions, and surrender themselves to the moment. Jones described this surrender as “dancing in the Spirit. To dance in the Spirit simply means to dance before the Lord without thinking about the moves, steps, choreography, or form” (Jones 2001, 7). This idea is similar to Jung’s “authentic movement” which is generated at the core of one’s being rather than in the psyche. Once the women had shed their constraints, they were ready to participate in a collaborative choreographic process. Jones, acting as facilitator, would lead the women in discussions concerning specific topics. Sometimes she would show them images (e.g. a picture of a soaring eagle) and then ask the women to share their reactions. During the session that Jones shared the picture of the eagle, some of the women commented on the strength the bird seemed to have. Others stated that the image made them reflect on the scripture, “…but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint (Isa. 40:31 NIV). The amount of probing Jones would do depended on the individual. The participants who were further along in their recovery were usually willing to share more openly and deeply. Others were still guarded. She took her cue from them. Regardless of the topic, issues concerning addiction and recovery were central to the discussion. Another part of Jones’ process was a movement inquiry. She, again in the role of facilitator, would ask a question, quote a scripture, or show an image. Then she would ask the dancers to use movement, rather than words, to respond. Jones often used movement inquiry as a follow-up to a discussion. In January 2004, one such inquiry followed discourse concerning the impact drug use had on familial relationships. The movement inquiry exercise involved two women. The first was Alicia (pseudonym) who was in her early 30s. She had come from a moderately large family that included four other siblings who were all professionally successful. Alicia expressed that she had always felt like the “black sheep” of the family. Her relationship with her mother had a history of being strained. Alicia’s crack addiction caused further estrangement between

her and her mother. The shame she felt as a result of her chemical dependence exacerbated her feelings of isolation from her family members. However, it was her mother’s unwillingness to forgive her addiction that saddened Alicia the most. Wanda (pseudonym), the mother of a crack addicted daughter in her late 30s, was the second woman who participated in the movement inquiry. Although not personally addicted, she found participating in the dance classes to be cathartic. She was frustrated by her inability to emotionally connect with her daughter. Wanda was at her wits end and did not know how to impress on her daughter that she loved her unconditionally and supported her efforts to get clean. Jones looked at Alicia and Wanda—the displaced daughter and mother, respectively. She told them both to go to the corner and begin walking across the floor together towards the opposite corner. As Alicia walked she held her head down and barely lifted her feet to make slow steps. Wanda’s gait was also slow, yet more certain. One quarter of the way across the floor, Wanda took Alicia’s hand in hers and began to lead her. As they made it to the halfway point, Wanda pulled Alicia closer to her side. At that point, Alicia put her head on Wanda’s shoulder and they continued. A few steps further, Wanda released Alicia’s hand and put her arm around Alicia’s shoulders. Tears began to flow from Alicia’s eyes as she placed her arm around Wanda’s waist. They walked a few steps further holding tightly to one another. Their tear-stained faces contorted as they began to cry. No longer able to walk, they embraced. During that short journey, a daughter and a mother were allowed to simulate their heartfelt desires. Alicia received forgiveness, acceptance and love from her (proxy) mother. Wanda received the opportunity to lead her (substitute) daughter through the struggle with addiction while demonstrating her unconditional love for her tormented daughter. In reflecting on the occurrence, Jones marveled at what had transpired. She explained that the women desperately needed an infusion of hope that their respective relationships would improve. Alicia’s and Wanda’s spontaneous role-playing was a healing exercise for their emotions. Improvised physical responses of this emotional nature were fodder for Jones’ choreographic process. She wrote, “I have found that it is healing for all the dancers to participate in this process. The creative ideas that come as a result of sharing ideas in a safe environment allows God to give us awesome dances that

minister to others” (Jones Dancing 3). Jones regularly guided her dancers through this cathartic process. Most notably it yielded the narrative works Hope (2001) and Journey (2003). Except for Jones, the performers of the work Journey had never studied any form of codified dance technique. Their exposure to dance within the context of the Saturday classes presented all the benefits of movement—like body conditioning and the release of tension—but virtuoso dance technique and the aesthetics common to codified forms was not the emphasis. Jones regularly expressed to her dancers that she was more interested in them finding freedom through movement. She did not want her participants’ dancing to be intellectually driven. Instead she was interested in “art which communicates and involves the whole person in meaningful action” (Taylor 1967, 13). Jones described Hope as a “choreopoem.” This descriptor suggests this work is a dance that is performed using a poem, rather than music as a sound score. In essence, this collaborative effort is a miniature drama. The material for Hope was generated from a question and answer session with a diverse group of eight women which included Lydia and Rhea. Jones was also a part of this collective even though she set the course. Three of the women participating in Jones’ choreographic process had used crack cocaine. In addition to sharing a history of drug abuse, two were married and all three had children. Another was Jones’ long time friend and former fellow Orchesis Contemporary Dance Company dancer from their early college days. This woman had never engaged in the use of illegal drugs. Yet, she was occasionally overwhelmed with grief as it related to mourning the loss of her mother to cancer. The final three were college students—none of whom had used illicit drugs. However, they struggled with academic stress. Each woman understood adversity within her specific context. Jones desired to highlight how each was a woman who understood the importance of holding fast to hope. Jones and the women were sitting in a relaxed circle on the floor when she asked them to think about the first time they discovered hope. She also asked them to recall what they felt at that moment. The women took turns speaking, and each became a storyteller as she summoned her memory. As if following an unspoken rule, each first spoke of a situation or set of circumstances that caused her to feel despair. Then she relieved her audience by sharing the pivotal moment when her deep-seated optimism was

rewarded. Jones studied each dancer’s body language and took note of the words that triggered specific physical reactions. After all of the dancers had spoken, Jones asked them to stand. She then showed them the gestures they had made during their narrations. The women watched intently as Jones replayed their somatic reactions with accuracy. Once she was finished, all of the puzzle’s pieces were on the metaphorical table. She began shifting and sliding the dancers’ phrases into an order that resulted in a free-verse movement poem about hope. The work Jones created and then set on the subsequent various groups with whom she worked was simple in form. She intuitively followed in the footsteps of dance artists who sought out the therapeutic and/or spiritual aspects of dance (e.g. Anna Halprin and Bill T. Jones). In her works Hope and Journey, examined below, Jones’ group movement phrases were not virtuosic. Rather, the movements were extensions or the outgrowth of her dancers’ responses to psycho-spiritual concepts. Hence, the dance movements that were woven throughout both Hope and Journey were symbolic actions. Concerning the values of simplicity and sincerity, in this type of dance, Margaret Fisk Taylor wrote: The movements must be so simple that those in the congregation can imagine themselves doing what the [symbolic movement] choir members are. … Empathy is the bond that unites the choir and congregation and this comes through simplicity of movement and sincerity of meaning. This interrelation of simplicity and meaning was recognized by the sculptor Brancusi, who said “Simplicity is not the aim of the art, but one arrives at simplicity in approaching the real meaning of things” (Taylor 1967, 16).

TWO SIGNATURE WORKS: HOPE AND JOURNEY

Hope was created in 2001 and featured Rosalind Tompkins’ edict, “As long as there’s breath in your body, there’s hope.” Except for the performers, the work remained the same throughout Jones’ time as director of Beracha, in its capacity as a program for Mothers in Crisis, Inc. The following is Hope, complete with descriptions of the accompanying choreography and stage directions. (Eight women, evenly spaced, face the audience. As Jones (Alexia) narrates all of the women move in unison.) ALEXIA:

Have you ever been in a situation that looked like you’d never see the light at the end of the tunnel? Maybe you lost a loved one, lost your job… Maybe you found yourself addicted…

(Fingers of right hand curve and push hair behind right ear) You think about that thing…

(Right arm extends down and circles up until extended index finger is brought to lips) …and it leaves you speechless.

(Fingers of right hand curve and push hair behind right ear) I mean you think about it some more…

(Both hands grasp an imaginary towel and throw it forward) …and it makes you want to throw in the towel!

(Arms down by side, rotate hands back and forth quickly) Hope…HOPE…

(Arms begin down by sides. Palms face out from body as arms lifted shoulder height and then above head. Palms press down in front of body parallel to floor stopping just below the waist.) …is like the sun that rises up and over the horizon

(Pantomime ripping paper and then flushing a toilet) I mean, you take that situation and you tear it up, and rip it up, and tear it up, and throw into the toilet and flush it!

(Stand diagonally with left foot slightly forward, as if banging on a door with the sides of clenched fists, pump arms three times in sync with the last three words) And then hope comes because then you know that God has got your back!

(Pantomime digging motion with both hands at sides of body) Sometimes you have to dig for hope. You have to dig down really deep for hope.

(Bring palms together with fingertips just below chin) But through your prayers…your prayers to your God…

(Pantomime opening a curtain with both arms, the hands are flexed at the wrists) …the doors of hope open!

(Return to a neutral stance with arms down at sides)

WOMAN 1: (Breaks away from the group) I can’t! I can’t! I just can’t!

WOMAN 2: (Walks to Woman 1, places hands on her shoulders) Yes you can! Yes you can!

WOMAN 1: (Looks at Woman 2 then to audience) Yes…yes, I can. I can! (Both walk back to group) WOMAN 3: (Drops to knees and cries in anguish) They took my son!

WOMAN 4: Sometimes you gotta learn to laugh at your situation. Just laugh girl!

(All women begin laughing encouraging Woman 3 to join them)

ALEXIA/WOMAN 5: (Pulls Woman 3 to feet) Girl, get up from there! God didn’t give you your son to take him away! Girl, we are going to walk through this together.

(They begin walking arm in arm in a circle. The other women follow.)

ALEXIA/WOMAN 5: (Continued) Let me tell you something. As long as there is breath in your body, there’s hope!

(All go back to original formation)

WOMAN 6: (Steps forward) JOY! (Then sings) I’ve got joy like a fountain, I’ve got joy like a fountain, I’ve got joy like a fountain in my soul. I’ve got joy like a fountain, I’ve got joy like a fountain, I’ve got joy like a fountain in my soul. JOY!

WOMAN 7: (To Woman 6) God answered your prayers! He answered your prayers, Hallelujah!

WOMAN 8: Pain! Hurt! Anger! Walls!

WOMAN 5:

Are you breathing?

ALL: (In succession) Are you breathing?

(Woman 8 takes an audible breath)

WOMAN 5: “As long as there’s breath in your body, there’s hope!”

ALL: (In succession) There’s hope! (Jones “Women” 2003, 5)

Hope became a staple in Beracha’s repertory whether performed as an individual piece or as part of larger work like Jones’ play, Women of Recovery, Restoration and War (2003). The movement was minimal so Jones found it easy to teach and have a variety of women perform the work, regardless of their physical condition. As mentioned, health issues were common among the women in recovery. Also the piece could be performed in a myriad of settings, whether space was limited or abundant. Aside from practical matters Hope was popular because it featured themes that were common to many women. The opening line speaks of the proverbial tunnel and the idea of not readily seeing an end to difficulties. Each of the original seven women from whom Jones drew the piece could relate to this concept of questioning her fortitude. (That is, can I make it through the weekend without using? Will I ever get my child back? Can I finish the semester without losing my mind?) Snap shots of the women’s personal struggles and victories taught the performers and their audiences that hope is a constant promise of positive change and growth. Jones equated hope with mutual support, healing laughter, and most importantly the belief that God answers prayers. For example, Lydia was the original “Woman 6” who sang about joy. She was joyful because her husband had ceased his crack use and entered a detoxification program. Lydia had shared in previous Saturday sessions that she was praying for his strength to stop using drug and drinking. In response, Jones would often lead the group in a prayer of intercession on Lydia’s husband’s behalf. Jones

would also lay hands on Lydia as she prayed for Lydia’s continued ability to resist relapse. Jones wrapped these ideas (e.g. joy, strength, perseverance) in simple movements created from the dancers’ responses. In doing so she gave the women ownership not only of the dance, but also a significant communal experience. The value she placed on the collaborative creative process is comparable to the Kung’s reliance on the community for successful healing dances. In Healing Makes Our Hearts Happy, anthropologists Richard Katz, Megan Biesele and Verna St. Denis wrote, “[T]he synchronized presence of the whole community celebrates the healing power’s existence. For the [Kung], the healing dance symbolizes an entire way of life, one in which their knowledge, strength, and willingness to help one another assert a secure sense of cultural identity” (xiii). For Beracha, and its audiences, the “secure sense of cultural identity” rested in their belief in God and his power to heal. The women who were not using dance as a panacea for addiction were also positively impacted by engaging in Jones’ Christian healing dance process. In a conversation on August 21, 2007, Jones stated that early in her work with Beracha she wondered why some of the women who did not have personal issues with addiction frequently attended her classes and participated in collaborative choreographic sessions. Over time she received her answer. One such woman, Victoria (pseudonym), seemingly had nothing in common with the women in recovery, save her love of worshipping God through dance. She enjoyed a comfortable upper-middle class life in Tallahassee, Florida, and therefore did not have many of the same worries, particularly financial, as the majority of the Beracha participants. However, Jones learned that Victoria’s childhood experiences rested at the other end of the spectrum. Victoria, who was one of ten children, had been abandoned by her mother who was severely addicted to crack cocaine. Hence, her eldest sister reared the other nine, and provided for and protected them. Victoria suffered greatly because of the traumas her sister was forced to endure. Without parents in the home, the children were vulnerable. Victoria, a beautiful woman, and likely a beautiful child, often caught the eye of pedophilic acquaintances. Her sister would offer herself sexually to these men in order to divert their attention from the young Victoria. As a result, Victoria had to confront and transcend issues of bitterness that she felt towards her estranged mother, whose

addiction drove her and her siblings to the fringes of society, into abject poverty, and into harm’s way. Her participation with Jones and Beracha were beneficial in helping her cope with this trauma. Another woman, Grace (pseudonym), also seemed to have no ties with addiction. The members knew she battled overwhelming grief as a result of her mother’s death. Yet, the other women did not know that at the root of Grace’s sadness was a story about addiction. Her mother had contracted AIDS as a result of unsafe drug use practices (e.g. use of dirty needles, unprotected sex with a needle user). Jones would not divulge whether it was Grace’s mother or father who had engaged in the use of drugs, so it is not clear how her mother contracted the virus that can destroy the immune system. Apparent, however, was that Grace was grief-stricken. Her participation with Beracha allowed her to physically, spiritually and emotionally work through her feelings of loss. Alexia Jones’ process for creating Hope and the work itself served as a foundation for Journey. She integrated the individual stories that gave Hope its structure and created a single storyline. The subsequent effort chronicled the life of a crack cocaine addict named Simone Laquanda Jackson. The audience4 follows the main character as she transitions from addiction to recovery. Jones crafted the work so that Simone would progress through five phases—desperation and seeking, rebirth and loss, determination and humility, reunification and reparation (with the character’s child and repairing the torn relationship); transformation (living with temperance and encouraging others). Participation in this project was limited to the Beracha members whose lives had been directly impacted by drugs. This group was comprised of four mothers—including Jones. This work also included Tracy’s (introduced in chapter two) teenaged son and Alicia’s (introduced earlier in this chapter) adolescent daughter. Journey allowed Jones to flesh out subjects she had merely touched on in Hope. For example, in the first phase of desperation and seeking Simone, portrayed by Jones, is in anxious pursuit of a “fix.” She is without funds, so she makes an appeal to her supplier insinuating a sex-for-drugs barter. With groans and grunts, the audience audibly

4 The majority of the performances of Hope took place at Mothers in Crisis events, Beracha performances, or as part of church services at Turning Point International Church (TPIC). The two performances of Journey took place at TPIC. On both occasions, the majority of the congregation was compromised of people who were either recovering from addiction or who were related to a former or current drug user.

acknowledges that Simone’s words struck a familiar chord. In the article “Female Crack Users and Their Sexual Relationships: The Role of Sex-For-Crack Exchanges” Claire E. Sterk wrote, “Those women who do exchange sex for crack tend to hold a marginal position among crack users and often have little power and status [Amaro, 1995; Maher & Curtis, 1992]” (Sterk 2000) [unpaginated webpage]. A significant number of Jones’ female audiences before which Journey was performed related strongly to this scene. These women were multiply marginalized on the basis of their addictions, their sexual behaviors as it related to sustaining their habits, and because of their race, gender and social-economic status. Katrina, one of Jones’ performers, was a former teen prostitute. She was among the set of girls who worked for and cohabitated with the “Jones boys” – the infamous pimps/pushers of Frenchtown discussed in chapter two. Jones’ choice to bring focus to the reality that addicted women do sell their bodies to feed their habits demonstrates her intent to confront and ultimately redress the powerlessness that accompanies a compulsion-driven life. The dealer refuses Simone’s request and offer, and she is dejected. A cascade of emotions pours forth as she expresses her frustration at being devalued. Further, Simone professes her weariness concerning her addiction. She is utterly dissatisfied with life. It is in this state that she refocuses her desperate search, and petitions God for help. During the collaborative process, Jones asked the women to use a word or short phrase that articulated the feelings or thoughts they had while still using cocaine and/or its derivative, crack. Based on interviews with, and informal statements made by African-American female former substance abusers, this writer found that it was a common occurrence for these women to think about getting help for their compulsive behaviors while in the process of getting high. In the same vein, Jones’ discussion with her participants yielded the words and phrases “humiliated,” “standing on the threshold of despair,” “addicted,” and “broken.” She also asked the young participants to express how they felt during the height of their mothers’ addictions. The teen boy and the young girl responded with the phrases, “hurt and ashamed” and “lost and alone,” respectively. This same group lined the perimeter of the performance space. Dressed in black and wearing white face paint and white gloves, they were at once survivors of addiction, as well as a chorus. They exclaimed their words and phrases, giving voice to Simone’s

states of mind and spirit. The chorus members turned around to face their respective walls. Jones’ staging is deliberate. This action symbolizes the act of prayer as found in the Old Testament Book of Isaiah. In Isaiah 38:2 the dying King “Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed to the Lord.” As the result of Hezekiah’s prayers, God promised to add 15 years to his life and protect his city from his enemy (Isa. 38:5-6 NIV). At the same time, Simone, accompanied by the music of Christian artist, Smokie Norful—“I Need You Now”—begins to dance her prayer of supplication. The audience is moved by this expression which, unknown to the majority of the observers, harkens back to Jones’ daily ritual of dance and private communion. The end of the dance ushers in the stage of rebirth and loss. Simone learns that she is eight weeks pregnant. Although Jones’ contributed this experience from her personal story, many addicted or formerly addicted mothers can strongly identify with this occurrence. Rhea, introduced in chapter two, learned she was pregnant while addicted to crack. She continued to use throughout her pregnancy. Lydia, mother of four, abstained from crack use on discovering her pregnancies. However, she resumed use immediately following each child’s birth. As mentioned earlier, both Rhea and Lydia were members of the original cast of Hope. They, however, were no longer members of Beracha when Jones created Journey. Simone gives birth to a daughter named Hope. Immediately following, the child protective services takes custody of the infant. While not described earlier, this, too, was Katrina’s experience. In an interview she shared that her son was taken from her by the Department of Children and Families, and placed with relatives (Katrina, Personal interview by author, August 2, 2004). In Journey, Katrina was cast as the nameless and silent social worker who takes Hope out of Simone’s arms. Simone attempts pursuit but is stopped by a slamming door. Many of the audience members shudder as the sound tears through space. Some observers begin to pray in tongues while stretching their hands towards Simone. At Turning Point International Church, this demonstration of prayer was customary when supplicants made intercession for others. Those in prayer had forgotten that Jones was portraying the character Simone, and that Jones had never lost custody of her daughter. Simone had become as real as the experiences she depicted.

Understanding the needs of the audience, Jones gives them a release and has Simone dance again. This time the song is “We Fall Down” by Donnie McClurkin. The spectators recognize and are assuaged by the popular song. Some rock themselves to and fro as the lyrics remind them of their humanity and resilience. “We fall down, but we get up…. For a saint is just a sinner who fell down but got back up….” (McClurkin 2000). Simone’s movement is simple and demonstrative. In time with the singer’s words she falls and recovers. Suddenly, the intensity of her movement changes; she shifts into a dance of warfare. In her manual, “Dancing with the Holy Spirit,” Jones wrote: The dance of warfare is a dance that demonstrates force, strength, victory, boldness and authority.… By faith we can prophetically pull down strongholds and push back the forces of darkness through dance.… The dance of warfare is usually a sequence of movements that tear down, trample, and rejoice. (9)

The audience is stirred by her movements and responds verbally. One woman in particular continually repeats the word “yes” throughout the duration of the dance. By the dance’s end the chorus is seated upstage of Simone. The scene, a drug support group meeting, marks the beginning of the next phase—determination and humility. Simone’s body language and words are laden: Hi, my name is Simone, and I’ve been clean for about two weeks. (The chorus claps the air three times, and then traces a circle from down to up. Their hands end folded in their laps.) I’m glad to be here because they took my baby. (The chorus solemnly nods in unison.) I love my baby. I didn’t know they were going to take her from me. I didn’t know what I was doing to her. I just didn’t know! All I know is I had a broken heart. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I just need your support. (All of the chorus members rise except the adolescent girl. One by one they file towards Simone and demonstrate their encouragement with hugs and firm shoulder grasps.) (Jones Journey 2003).

Simone is determined to seek help and is humble enough to admit that she needs affirmation. In Stepping into Greatness (1999), Dr. Mark Chironna addresses the importance of this type of encouragement in writing, “To be affirmed is to be made strong and firm. Words indeed pack an emotional punch and create feelings. Affirming words by significant others in our lives are part of the process of healing and wholeness” (60). The drug support group becomes her system of reinforcement from which she can obtain the necessary encouragement.

The chorus members depart leaving the adolescent female. Years have passed and Simone is reunited with her daughter Hope. The audience watches as mother and daughter make tenuous steps towards reconciliation and the reestablishment of trust. Jones creates tension between the two characters. As Simone speaks Hope physically demonstrates a lack of willingness to entertain her mother’s words. For example, she makes a gesture of dismissal by extending stretched, tense arms and with flexed hands towards Simone. The rest of her body’s focus is turned away from Simone. Hope’s reluctance to trust fades when Simone confides: Listen, Hope. When the doctor told me I had a little girl in my womb that made me want to do right. And I know I still have a long way to go. But baby, keep praying for me. Don’t give up on me. You are my hope. God sent you. He brought me hope through you (Jones Journey 2003).

On completion of the last line, Simone reaches out to her daughter with her hand and her focus. Prior to this she was unable to look steadily on the one whose trust she so desperately desired to gain. Hope grasps the offered hand. Connected they reach their hands high and then delicately release one another. They allow their hands to linger in that space for a moment, as the chorus begins to make its proclamations. “Forgive!” “Healing!” “Praise!” “Reconciliation!” A few audience members applaud as the McClurkin song swells in the background, “…a saint is just a sinner who fell down but got back up….” As the music fades, the chorus members return to their seats, marking the final stage in Simone’s journey towards recovery—restoration and transformation. The segment depicts another group meeting. Simone sits erect and speaks with confidence. This time she states, “My name is Simone Jackson and I have nine years clean.” The chorus repeats their clapping gesture, but this time the audience joins in with congratulatory applause. The chorus stands and fills in the space behind Simone as she begins to encourage the audience. Then Jones, no longer in character, states to the children in attendance, “Even though we may have been on drugs or are still struggling with drugs, we still love you.” To the parents in the audience she said, “The prayers of our children keep us.” She ends her address with Tompkins’ edict: “As long as there’s breath in your body, there’s hope!” Then she leads the chorus in singing the song based

on this axiom. The lyrics written by Theotis Stallworth are as follows; the movement phrases are included: (Both arms scoop up and then float back down to sides) As long as there’s breath in your body,

(On “heart,” hands cover the heart and then slowly rise and fall from chest) As long as your heart beats within,

(Right arm extends side) You can

(Left arm extends side) live again

(Arms cross chest and drop torso to right, left and right diagonals) through the hurt and the pain.

(Both arms scoop up and then float back down to sides) There is hope, come and walk with me my friend.

(Exit up the aisle towards back of the church) There is hope, come and walk with me my friend.

Based on the positive audience responses I observed, Jones was successful in creating a work that highlights the possibility of familial restoration. Journey addressed the issues of both parents and children. The first time Journey was performed, it was part of a Turning Point International Church event called “April Showers.” During the month of April in 2003, the ordained ministers were asked to give a sermon. Rather than preaching a traditional sermon from the pulpit, Jones decided to create Journey. Jones was serving in the capacity of Youth Pastor; thus, she wanted a message that would speak to the young members of the congregation. In creating Journey she wanted to address three points. First, she sought to demonstrate the struggles the addicted mothers faced inside the cyclical pattern of addiction as well as the difficulties the women endured as they battled towards sobriety. Second, she wished to remind the children that in spite of their mothers’ inability to care for them because of their addictions, their mothers still loved them. Jones’ third aim was to encourage the children to pray for their mothers, because she believed their prayers

were powerful and could fan the flames of hope on their mothers’ behalves. Jones felt positive that the youth of TPIC heard and embraced her message. The group that engaged in Jones’ process from inception to execution found the experience rewarding. This was a new group of women. Tracy recalled her entrée to Beracha: Alexia told me that she saw specific faces when she first got the idea for Journey. She said my face was one of them. She asked me to start attending classes on Saturdays. Watching [my son dance] in church Sunday after Sunday made me want to dance, too. I was very athletic as a child. But I had gotten so big after I quit smoking. I thought I was too out of shape to dance. Alexia told me about how heavy she was when she started dancing again [after her addiction]. I said ‘Okay.’ I haven’t missed a Saturday. [Journey] was the first time I ever ministered (Tracy, Personal interview by author, August 2, 2004).

The opportunity to dance was rewarding. Sharing the performance with her son made it even more significant. Moreover, an opportunity to engage in an open discussion about addiction with her son proved to be healing. In doing so, Tracy was able to come to terms with his feelings about her addiction, as well as his fears concerning her mental health. Tracy, as aforementioned, became addicted to crack cocaine and later prescription medication in failed attempts to manage her bipolar disorder. Through his participation in Journey, her son learned that his prayers had power. Katrina also found participating in Journey an empowering experience. This, too, marked her first opportunity to “minister in the dance.” What is more, when Jones cast her as the social worker it gave Katrina an opportunity to reframe her past. Although she may never be able to retell the story about her son being taken from her without shedding a few tears, as she did during her interview, she learned not to view the agency with disdain. After all, Katrina knew it was in her son’s best interest to be with relatives. Fortunately, she was able to restore her relationship with her son (Katrina, Personal interview by author, August 2, 2004). In addition, Bobbi benefited from sharing in the choreographic process. Her contribution is reflected in Simone’s words to Hope: “You are my hope. God…brought me hope through you” (Jones Journey 2003). As was discussed in chapter two, Bobbi lost her second child the same day her daughter was born. She was left emotionally crippled and unable to fully care for her eldest child, who was still fairly young, or her

infant daughter. In an interview she recalled the unusual day that brought a mysterious visitor. She was at home alone with her children, but locked in a room crying and holding an outfit that had belonged to her deceased son. A heavy knocking on her trailer door roused her. She looked out of the window to see an elderly woman. She could tell by the visitor’s demeanor that the woman had no intention of leaving until she had spoken to Bobbi. Bobbi, sullenly, answered the door and the woman said, “The Lord told me to tell you that everything’s going to be all right…. Your daughter is a blessing to you from God. Your daughter is going to be the one to bring you out of everything you’re in” (Bobbi, Personal interview by author, July 31, 2004). The message left her bewildered. The woman who was standing before her was a stranger. Bobbi wondered how the woman could have possibly known that she had a daughter. In spite of this confusion, Bobbi’s maternal instincts were revived. She began moving towards creating a better environment for her children and herself—one free of violence and drugs. Bobbi’s belief in herself was bolstered by her ability to contribute significantly to her community, Beracha. Consequently, her once fledgling self-esteem was elevated. Jones’ efforts were also successful when viewed in light of Margaret Fisk Taylor’s guidelines for creating meaningful works: a “clear statement of a central theme, a restatement of the theme with some variation or contrast, and the restatement of the central theme which leads to a climax” (Taylor 1967, 16-17). Hope was not a narrative; rather it was a series of general scenarios that could be broadly interpreted. For example, when Woman 1 merely exclaims, “I can’t!” the audience members could superimpose their specific issues that were causing them to feel frustrated or helpless. After receiving encouragement, Woman 1 then declares, “Yes, I can!” The audience members had an opportunity to share in this support, and realize that they, too, could overcome obstacles. Jones structured the work so that through the repetition of sweeping illustrations, the dancers could model patterns of confronting and then triumphing over adversities. In using a simple structure to express a genuine message, Jones’ work inherently reflected the value Taylor placed on the need for choreography to be simple and sincere. “The movements must be so simple that those in the congregation can imagine themselves doing what the choir members are doing” (15). Jones’ also made the message easy to assimilate.

The climax of the piece is Jones’ declaration of Rosalind Tompkins’ edict that, “As long as there’s breath in your body, there’s hope.” This statement is based on the scripture, “Anyone who is among the living has hope—even a live dog is better off than a dead lion” (Eccl 9:4 NIV)! The first time the work was performed, in 2001, the dancers walked among the congregation passing out compacts (mirrors) with the biblically-based reminder inscribed on the lid. As the dancers distributed the mirrors, Tompkins stood up in the pulpit and said, “Open up your mirror and breathe on it.” The congregation did as they were instructed. Tompkins then reiterated, “As long as you can see breath on that mirror, you have a chance…you have hope!” (Project Hope Tour 2001) Jones continued to build on the concept of hope in the narrative work Journey. The plot benefited from the use of dance vocabulary and text that were comprehensible and uncomplicated. The result was a work that progressed organically, allowing Jones to effectively communicate to her audiences. As was discussed, Jones created Journey to address the children of addicted mothers. However, the work was equally resonant for adults who had overcome addiction and those who, like the earlier discussed Wanda, Victoria and Grace, had issues connected with drug abuse. Through Beracha, Jones created a healing community which was developed out of her own brokenness. As a young woman in recovery she understood that she was wounded by events in the past—emotional injury caused by a relationship with a verbally abusive father and the degradation and marginalization that accompanied her addiction to powder cocaine. Her support base in Tallahassee, Florida in 1995 was conditional so she turned to the two things that had been abiding presences for much of her life: her faith in God and her love of dance. She intuitively combined these concepts and formulated a personal ritual of worshipful dance. It was through this process of seeking the Divine that she gained freedom from her addiction. She also used this sacred dancing to address the issues that initially propelled her towards her addiction. As she continued to confront her issues, she reconnected with what she had identified as her true purpose, to use dance on a grassroots level to encourage positive change. Moreover, Jones’ personal journey of healing which took her from addiction to recovery equipped her to “...move with people into the depths of their woundedness” (Norberg and Webber 1990, 94).

In Stretch Out Your Hands (1990), Tilda Norberg and Robert Webber described the healing process from a Christian perspective: “Because the Holy Spirit is continually at work in each of us, pushing us toward wholeness, the process of healing is like removing sticks and leaves from a stream until the water runs clear. If we simply get out of the way of the Lord’s work in us, we can trust that we are being led to the particular kind of wholeness God wills for us.” …It sounds simple…[yet ] we know it is not…. Taking “the sticks and leaves” away may be painful. With them gone we may feel afraid or uncomfortable. … [M]any of us may find it hard to give up a way of life that feels familiar even though painful. We hang onto our suffering, often clutching painful memories, resentments, or guilt as though they were treasures. (41-42)

Jones used dance and the salve of biblical scripture to excise “the sticks and leaves” the women of Beracha were willing to release. Further she guided them, with the use movement metaphors, through the process of confronting and ultimately letting go of the pain surrounding and resulting from their addictions. About her work, Jones wrote, “It has been my privilege to teach and minister to women who are in recovery from drugs and alcohol. The gift that God has given me has allowed me to watch his women blossom and put on a garment of praise in exchange for a spirit of heaviness and despair” (Jones 2001, 2).

CONCLUSION

Alexia L. Jones, spiritually and intuitively forged a program in Tallahassee, Florida through which she showed that dance can be useful in disrupting the pattern of substance addiction. Also, she demonstrated that her approach to healing dance, which echoed preexisting healing traditions and therapeutic dance applications, leads to restoration and transformation. Jones’ efforts targeted the fragmentation of the individual, thereby helping to restore the balance between the body, mind and spirit. In addition, Jones provided the women in recovery an opportunity to practice, through dance, their reentry into their families and society. Healing dance exists in many forms. Regardless of its outward appearance this curative expression has the ability to impart and/or restore wholeness. Healing dance as practiced by traditional societies such as the Kung, clinical and intuitive dance therapists, and ministers of Christian sacred dance can “activate healing at the deepest levels; it can move [its participants] from a place of tears to the place of joy” (Kincannon 2000, 2). In “Dance Therapy: The Oldest Form of Healing and a New Profession” (1979) Kayla Kazahn Zalk wrote, “The concept of the dancer as healer with magical powers is an ancient one” (204). Following World War II, Marian Chace began using dance at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Washington, D.C. as part of treatment for those with psychological disturbances. Her success marked the beginnings of dance therapy. On the West Coast, Trudi Schoop and Mary Whitehouse were developing similar yet distinctly individual uses of dance therapy. The discovery of tranquilizers during the 1950s and the changing attitudes toward institutionalized patients allowed dance therapists to work with people who had previously been physically and emotionally isolated. The human potential movement of the 1960s and the growing research in non-verbal communication were fertilizer for the further growth of dance therapy as a modality. The growth of the profession is obvious in the following facts. Seventy- three charter members founded the American Dance Therapy Association in 1966. The current membership includes more than one thousand people, located in forty-one states and twelve countries. However, the relationship with older therapies is various and complicated. Dance therapy is perceived by some as a

“new” and unproven adjunctive tool, and by others as a clearly valuable primary treatment mode. (204)

In the nearly three decades that have followed Zalk’s article about the “new profession” the duality concerning dance therapy’s perceived effectiveness persists. Robert Allston, proponent of the Gainesville Arts in Medicine (AIM) in the University of Florida research hospitals, strongly advocated in 1998 that artists submit their therapeutic uses of art to clinical testing. He frequently attended conferences centered on holistic medicine/art therapies and noted in 1999 that practitioners who employed expressive art therapies within medical settings were continually frustrated. “The most pervasive complaint that all the speakers invariably voice is the perception that their form of healing is unfairly recognized and not sanctioned by mainstream medicine or the mainstream public (Allston “Mainstreaming”) [unpaginated webpage]. To remedy the perceived lack of value, Allston stipulated that only quantifiable evidence demonstrating the effectiveness of expressive therapies—like dance—will foster broader respect from the medical community and the general public. In 2006 the National Institute of Drug Abuse (NIDA) and the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism (NIAAA) sought clinical research grant applicants to participate in the clinical study “Complementary and Alternative Medicine for Substance and Alcohol Related Disorders.” Funded by the National Institute of Health (NIH), the goal of the study is “to critically evaluate the therapeutic effects of different [complementary and alternative medicine] therapies in treating various aspects of [substance use disorders] and [alcohol use disorders], alone or in combination with conventional treatments” (National Institute on Drug Abuse). The National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine defines “conventional medicine” as that which is practiced by degreed medical doctors, doctors of osteopathy, physical therapists, psychologists and registered nurses. “Other terms for conventional medicine include allopathy, Western, mainstream, orthodox, and regular medicine, and biomedicine” (National Institute on Drug Abuse). The funded researchers can expect to begin evaluating the effectiveness of “complementary and alternative” therapies—like dance— by December 2007. The number of researchers investigating the healing properties of dance and its effectiveness as a treatment for substance addiction is unknown. However,

the imminent clinical examinations, particularly of mind-body approaches to healing, will likely lead to the development of an appropriate method of testing. The establishment of an examination model will be useful for subsequent researchers seeking quantifiable conclusions concerning the efficacy of dance therapy—faith-based or otherwise. Although clinical examination is necessary for dance therapy to continue to evolve and be recognized more widely in medical settings, there are groups who will continue to believe and experience healing through dance regardless of clinical findings. Significant contributions to the effectiveness of healing dance in the specific applications examined in Chapter One—the Kung healing dances, Christian sacred dance, and clinical and innate dance therapy—are the communal nature of each and the goal of each form to affirm the full integration of parts to the whole. This integration not only addresses the aspects of the being—mind, body, and spirit, but also the fully integrated individual as part of a community. Dance is a shared experience whether done independently—yet in the company of observers (e.g. Halprin’s dance of healing), collectively (e.g. Kung traditional healing dances, Christian sacred dances as performed by either symbolic movement choirs or dance ministries, and group dance therapy sessions), or privately. Alexia L. Jones’ personally transformative experience with healing dance is representative of the latter. Jones is fond of the expression, “an audience of one,” which means to her “in the presence of God” (Jones 2001, 2). Her process of praise, worship, prayer and spiritual warfare as a remedy for her cocaine addiction became the blueprint for the program and dance ministry, the Beracha Dance Institute of Mothers in Crisis. For a period of seven years, she used Christian healing dance to guide women from their various stages of substance addiction to sobriety. Jones’ work in Tallahassee, Florida proved valuable and sustaining for the program participants. Through dance the women learned new ways of releasing the stresses that could trigger a relapse. In “Emotional Healing and Release through Dance,” (2004) Stephenie Lawton wrote: For many of us, dance is cathartic… As you [dance], old painful memories and feelings rise to the surface to be healed and released. To my body, it feels like an inner volcano erupting. As my teacher Marat Daukayev says, “It’s just energy.” As it bubbles up, it can cause alarm, because you can’t control it. The energy surges upward and outward. The stimulus, be it music, the teacher, or the energy of the other dancers triggers the response. There’s no turning back. You can only

go forward through the tunnel of pain. By feeling and using it, you become an alchemist. Ultimately this will make you an artist who can move the audience. (98)

Although Lawton’s article is addressing technically trained dancers who desire professional careers, she arrives at the same conclusion about the power of dance to heal. She also captures the process the women of Beracha underwent: first they, through dance, received their healing and then they shared with others what they received. It is as anthropologists Katz, et al explained in their observations of the Kung/Ju|’hoansi healing dances—all who are present have access to and may obtain healing. The benefits of dance can be reaped whether one is fully integrated in the activity or participating in the action peripherally through focused observation. Yet, an interesting distinction exists between the manner in which the women of Beracha achieved healing and the traditional method in which the Kung people are healed at their dances. For the Kung, there is a necessary reliance on the healers. As discussed in Chapter One, healers intercede on the community’s behalf. They describe this experience as “climbing the ‘threads of the sky’ to God’s village…. ‘We climb these invisible threads to God’s village to rescue the souls of the sick ones, and bring them back to our village,’ says ≠Oma Djo” (Katz, Biesele, and St. Denis 1997, 108). On the other hand, Jones’ process of healing through dance was concerned with both teaching and empowering the women in recovery from a Christian biblical perspective. Jones served as a pathfinder. She guided them individually and corporately through the various issues that arose and could serve as potential stumbling blocks in their ultimate goal of restoration. She bolstered the women’s self-esteem by telling them in words, and through the incorporation of their choreographic ideas, that their contributions were unique and of vital importance not only to Beracha, but also to the society at large. As each woman achieved a level of self-confidence, particularly in the areas of faith and dance, Jones encouraged them to maintain wholeness through their personal methods of danced prayer and praise. Through her dance instruction and spiritual encouragement, Jones pointed the women towards the path of developing personal relationships with God. She continually reinforced that, as believers, the women could petition God on their own behalf. Their personal communion benefited their

spiritual development, and it gave the women a foundation from which they could draw in their dance work with Jones. With Beracha as a safety net, members Tracy and Katrina explored their own movement voices. After dance classes and often during rehearsal breaks, they would choreograph their dance to a gospel song they each had found poignant. The result was an uncomplicated yet expressive piece that lauded the impact their participation in Beracha had had on reshaping their lives. The community support that these women obtained as part of the group was crucial to their individual transformations. The cocaine/crack subculture was rather insular when most of the formerly addicted women of Beracha were using drugs. Therefore, most had only a passing prior knowledge of the others in their drug society. This was the case with Tracy and Katrina. Yet, through Beracha they were given an opportunity to know one another on the other side of addiction. The time they spent together as Beracha members allowed them to develop a friendship. Initially their relationship was based on their love of God and the pleasure they derived from dancing. From that foundation they became friends who prayed together and for one another, shared the woes and delights of parenting, and even choose to participate in church affiliated auxiliaries together. Tracy and Katrina, like the other participants in recovery, learned that they were equipped to confront the adversity and embrace the joys of life without anesthetizing themselves. Jones’ dance exercises, prayer and choreography all combined to serve as a road map for the women. The women took hold of the various tools that comprised Jones’ healing dance process and shattered the vice grip of drug addiction. In the process of dancing towards freedom they developed a greater sense of self-worth and personal power. From victims of circumstances to victorious women, dancing “with the Spirit” allowed them to dance into a place of wholeness—mind, body and spirit. Jones’ model was successful because she achieved her primary goal: to help women achieve and maintain their sobriety. Through Beracha, her lofty aim was addressed one step at a time. Initially, Jones presented the participants with Christian healing dance as a cathartic, dopamine-inducing way to relieve stress. Saturday sessions became a protected time for the women. They knew that once a week for a two to three

hour period, they could focus on their own well-being. This time was dedicated to the women’s spiritual, physical and emotional needs. For the newly “clean” women, it was time spent not thinking about using drugs. In addition, the dancing offered a similar pay- off as did the drugs—through the release of endorphins or feel-good hormones. It did not take the individuals long to recognize that Jones was offering them a life-affirming and healthy alternative to substance use. Jones also used dance to encourage honest and unencumbered self-expression. Her use of improvisational exercises (discussed in Chapter Three) was particularly useful in fostering healthful communication—both physical and verbal. She used dance to break down walls that housed the harmful secrets that had contributed to the women’s addictions. Because all of her work was steeped in Christianity, she used biblical teachings to address the various aspects of addiction that arose. For example, the fear of returning to addictive behavior was common among women in their early stages of recovery. Jones would lead the women in dance driven by scriptures or contemporary Gospel music that would inspire them to continue in their efforts towards sobriety and wholeness. As a result of Jones’ approach to dance, the women became productive members of a community, Beracha. Therein, they experienced greater confidence and success. This translated into improved familial relationships, self-assurance at work, and a willingness to join various church auxiliaries. The women became more productive and functional members of society because of their involvement with Beracha, (Tracy, Personal interview by author, August 2, 2005; Katrina, Personal interview by author, August 2, 2005). Based on the information gathered in interviews, the women could readily identify the benefits of participating in Jones’ program. For example, they cited greater levels of physical fitness, an improvement in their self-esteem, and the development a more positive mental outlook as byproducts of their regular involvement in Beracha activities. Further, the interviewed women stated they trusted Jones as a spiritual leader, as well as a dance instructor. Their involvement with her fostered the development and/or strengthening of their Christian faith. The women who repeatedly relapsed tended to be inconsistent in their attendance. Hence, they could not draw on the communal support, which was a significant component of Jones’ work. Moreover, they

had not completely severed ties with family members, acquaintances, and places that served to trigger addictive behaviors. Overall Jones’ freshman efforts in the use of Christian therapeutic dance were successful. However, there were aspects within and surrounding her therapeutic process that needed improvement. As an observer, I identified three areas of weakness concerning her model. The first was Jones’ minimal use of codified dance techniques, the second was her reluctance to establish Beracha as an organization independent of Mothers in Crisis, and the third was her overlooking the importance of documenting and publishing her work. While Jones developed her dance method, she wavered between the use of technique and her desire to encourage the dancers to find their own movement voices. There is significant value in pursuing original approaches to movement. Yet, more emphasis on skill development would not have tainted her goals of encouraging faith in God and combating addiction through dance. The novice dancers would have benefited from a greater exposure to dance technique—modern, African, Caribbean, ballet, jazz, or release technique. The latter form could have been an interesting option because it was created in the 1960s and 1970s as a reaction to the rigidity and bound nature of existing theatrical dance techniques. “Release Technique is based on relaxing tension in the muscles during movement—as opposed to intensifying muscular effort—so as to allow the body greater ease in its actions…. [T]he momentum created by the dancing [places] emphasis on transitions between movement instead of reaching positions” (Grant-Friedman 2001) [unpaginated webpage]. The women’s willingness to release and transition was an important part of their healing—releasing the past of traumas and addictions and transitioning into a purposeful future. The use of release technique could have reinforced the importance of using dance as a cathartic tool through which one could let go of daily stressors and past traumas. As it was, the women who, with Jones’ encouragement, choreographed their own dances were limited to the few gestures and expressions that they learned in class sessions and derived from imitating Jones’ solo dance performance style. The result was the development of a minimal dance movement vocabulary. In A Primer for Choreographers (1967) Lois Ellfeldt wrote, “Skill in movement is a priceless asset, to be developed and used for freeing the dancer to fulfill the purpose of the dance, but not as a

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structuring mold into which all dances must be fitted…technique as a means to an end, not as an end in itself” (75). It is important to recapitulate: Jones’ group works were, by design, simple. It was necessary to keep the movement on a level suitable for the skill levels of the individuals who would perform the works. However, had Jones made more diligent use of codified techniques as part of conditioning and preparing the dancers, they would have had a larger vocabulary from which to develop their own explorations. A second area of concern was that Jones did not establish Beracha as an entity separate from Mothers in Crisis (MIC). As a result, her program development was limited. She could not pursue funding for her organization. Instead she was required to share in the already meager funds that MIC received from the Community Human Services Partnership (CHSP) comprised of the City of Tallahassee, Leon County, and the Big Bend chapter of the United Way. The CHSP attempts to equitably distribute community funds to approximately a hundred non-profit (501(c)(3)), human services agencies that participate in the application/funding process. As an independent organization Jones could have applied for faith-based organization (FBO) funding through the State of Florida. “FBOs are not required to establish a separate 501(c)(3) structure in order to accept state funds. They are not required to remove religious icons, art, symbols or material in order to take part in contracts” (Crew 2003, 7). The funding would have allowed Jones, at a minimum, to provide a greater number of therapeutic classes. Additionally, she could have established a touring company. A traveling group of women who performed Jones’ inspirational works about recovery from drug addiction would have exposed more people to her program. An additional benefit that Jones would have had as a director of an independent agency/program is the ability to critically evaluate the effectiveness of her therapeutic dance model. She could have developed an evaluative tool to help her more definitely determine if her program could stand on its own merits, or if it required the support of an agency like MIC, or connection with a church. The information concerning her documented successes and failures would have been useful in garnering more recognition

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for her efforts, and potentially some benefactors, especially if she had published her findings. Jones’ lack of documentation and publication of her work is the final area of concern. Jones, like the dance therapy pioneers Marian Chace, Liljan Espenak, Mary Starks Whitehouse and Anna Halprin historically conducted their work in their communities. Although their approaches varied, all of these women led others to wholeness through the use of dance, and shared the common goal of healing of the mind, soul or spirit, and the body. However, Jones, unlike her forerunners, did not take steps to record and ultimately preserve her work. Consequently, at the conclusion of her work in Tallahassee in 2004, Jones did not have a tangible record on which she could purposefully continue to build her program and track the evolution of her efforts. In addition, a detailed record chronicling the significant advances the women of Beracha were experiencing in maintaining their sobriety would have been useful in preparing papers or manuscripts for submission and publication. Publishing in a well-known journal would have aided in introducing her model of healing dance to a greater audience. The Journal of Black Psychology published the article “An Examination of Spirituality among African-American Women in Recovery for Substance Abuse” (2000). This article, as well as an upsurge in the general acceptance of Eastern medicine, and the push for clinical testing of complementary medicine are evidence that the general public and the field of conventional medicine are more readily embracing ancient healing arts and mind-body principles. Hence, there might have been interest in Jones’ findings. Jones’ first and only attempt at writing about her work was the unpublished manual “Dancing with the Holy Spirit” (2001). Therein, she was writing from the perspective of a Minster of Dance. Jones crafted the text to address the basic informational concerns of budding church dance leaders. Although she discussed her belief in God’s power to heal through dance, she did not detail any experiences she observed as a healing dance facilitator concerning the women in recovery. It would have been beneficial for Jones to incorporate case studies and other written records of observation concerning her participants’ progress towards a predetermined goal (i.e. drug abstinence). It would have also been advantageous if her manual not only addressed the

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use of healing dance within the church, but also how her model could be adapted for use in secular settings. If the idea of preparing a manuscript was daunting, Jones could have found someone who could have helped her prepare manuscripts discussing her approach to dance and how it engendered healing. During the period that she conducted her classes and workshops as an active part of Mothers in Crisis, Jones worked with approximately 25 women. Although the group’s membership changed throughout this period, the majority of these women worked with Jones for a minimum of three years. Over half of them received the encouragement and tools needed to successfully disrupt old patterns of addiction. Those who experienced the greatest levels of success attended dance sessions regularly. However, their accomplishments are not meaningfully attributed to Jones’ therapeutic process. Performing, or more accurately, ministering in the dance, is akin to publishing. Like her writing, Jones limited Beracha’s dance ministry presentations primarily to Christian settings (e.g. Turning Point International Church in Tallahassee, Florida). Broadening her group’s audience base would have potentially developed a greater level of recognition for her work using Christian dance to confront drug addiction. Several venues would have been appropriate for showing her work in Leon County. The annual Winter Festival—A Celebration of Lights, Music and the Arts could have been one such setting. This downtown, three-week event takes place from mid-November to early December, and is well-attended. Further, the festival is a popular performance location for local groups like the Tallahassee Ballet Company (est. 1973), the Mountain Dews clogging group (est. 1983), the Tallahassee Civic Chorale (est. 1986), and the Middle Eastern and Polynesian dancers of Troupe Arabesque and MauOliOli Dancers (est. 1994), respectively. These groups are among other performers who regularly entertain the festival attendees from one of the many stages set up throughout the winter village. In addition, the Urban League’s annual Unity in the Community Festival would have been useful opportunity during which Jones could have promoted the therapeutic mode of dance and shared the positive message of drug addiction recovery. The festival is held at the Kleman Plaza in downtown Tallahassee, and is attended by various populations. Furthermore, numerous community centers throughout the city hold health

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fairs during the year. A dance presentation about drug addiction and recovery would have been appropriate and engaging for the audiences in attendance. In 2004, Jones concluded her work with women in recovery in Tallahassee, Florida. The following year she relocated to Decatur, Georgia. The summer of 2006, Jones was awarded a scholarship to attend the choreographers’ workshop at the historic dance mecca, Jacob’s Pillow (est. in 1931) in the Berkshires, Becket, Massachusetts. I recommended she read Halprin’s Moving toward Life: Five Decades of Transformational Dance (1995) while at the Pillow. I thought not only would Jones recognize the similarities between her approach and Halprin’s, and also note the detail Halprin used in recording her experiences and methods, as well as the transformative experiences of her students. Subsequent to her efforts in Tallahassee, Florida (1997-2004) and her sojourn to the Berkshires, Jones had time to objectively reflect on her work. As a result of her ruminations she established Dancing in Purpose—an organization that offers dance as both a primary and an ancillary treatment to all ages who are seeking help for various traumas and substance addictions. Jones’ attitude towards the use of technique has also undergone a transformation. She now more consciously draws on her experience as a trained dancer by offering both creative movement sessions and technique classes. In addition, she adapted her method for use in a state funded, non-Christian program for at risk-youth in Cobb County, Georgia. The Christian doctrine and overtones were omitted. In a conversation in February of 2007, Jones stated her intent to revisit and further develop her manual for dancing. She plans to give more attention to specifying the recurring benefits and results of practicing healing dance from a Christian perspective. She also stated that she is giving careful attention to the preservation and documentation of her work through the use of digital and analog recordings. Further, Jones has created a replicable model of her Christian healing dance process. Through Christian dance healing workshops, varying from one to three days in length, she teaches other dance ministry leaders how to harness the healing properties of faith-based dance (Alexia Jones, pers. comm., February 3, 2007; Jones Dancing in Purpose Workshop, February 3, 2007). “My desire is to see dance used as a tool to empower others to reach their full potential…” (Dancing in Purpose—Bio) [unpaginated webpage].

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During the seven years of her work in Tallahassee, Florida, Jones did not have name recognition in the field of therapeutic dance. Yet, in examining the lives and achievements of Halprin, Chace, and Espenak, they, too, were relatively unknown outside of their communities in the beginning of their therapeutic work. Their lack of recognition did not hinder their abilities to positively influence the lives of others. Similarly, Jones’ capacity to facilitate healing was not compromised because her work was done rather quietly in the predominantly African-American, Bond Community in Tallahassee. Alexia Jones’ use of Christian healing dance as a tool for substance addiction recovery demonstrates the potential of one person to have a tremendous influence and effect on others. Her accomplishments are evidence that individuals can be found doing great work in small communities. In Human, All Too Human Friedrich Nietzsche wrote, “Greatness means: to give direction” (239). It is clearly apparent that Jones served as a pathfinder and leader, not only to the women of Beracha, but also as a pioneer in the use of Christian healing dance as a tool for drug recovery in the Tallahassee area. Author, Gail Sheehy’s words in Pathfinders (1981) aptly describe Jones’ life and work through the Beracha Dance Institute: [Pathfinders] can only come out of a society that is ready to risk a new path. It is their patience in explaining new realities with which they have wrestled in private periods of withdrawal and their passion for breathing new life into our oldest, shared beliefs and values, that permits them to help a confused society find its way back to a clarity of purpose. Let us hope we shall continue to know them when we see them. (416)

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

EDUCATION Ph.D. in Humanities/Dance Emphasis, December 2007 Florida State University, Tallahassee FL Dissertation: In God’s Presence: Conquering Addiction through Dance Dissertation Advisor: Dr. John O. Perpener Recipient: McKnight Doctoral Fellowship

M.F.A. in Dance, 1998 Florida State University, Tallahassee FL Graduate Research: African Americans in American Ballet

B.A. in Mass Media Arts, 1991 Hampton University, Hampton VA Thesis: Censorship in Print Media

ACADEMIC HONORS Kappa Tau Alpha Honor Society, Hampton University Presidential Scholar, Hampton University Who’s Who All-American Scholar, Hampton University Black Graduate Student Program, Florida State University McKnight Doctoral Fellowship

MEMBERSHIPS Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc. American Alliance for Health, Physical Education, Recreation and Dance

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