Passion’s Dance
I don’t know what im looking for, but sometimes I find more than I thought I wanted.
España-December 2025
This is only my second day in Madrid, but I am mad to experience every moment. To savor everything the city and the country have to offer. I have 1 month to extract a lifetime of inspiration and love from this place. So, in spite of only having a single full day before flying to Portugal for a week, I embrace it fully.
It is pre-Christmas and the city is bustling with shoppers and beautified with every sort of light that good design will allow. There is a real difference here with the design of holiday lights. Everything is tastefully done. There are no 20' wiggle-dancers or animatronic robots and certainly not a single skeleton repurposed for the holiday by slapping a stocking cap on the figure.
Spain is an ancient culture and as such, have managed to imbue art into even the smallest places.
However, in spite of my eagerness, desire cannot outpace physical exhaustion. Jet lag isn't just a myth and it's difficult to get my body and mind moving before noon local time. But move it does.
On to the #6 grey line for a few stops, a hop to the blue line before coming up at Plaza de España. This square is home to the Monumente de Cervente. A huge bronze sculpture of Don Quixote and Sancho Plaza.
We wander the city for a while. Find cinema row and discover an AMAZING bookshop-cafe named Eight and a Half. Every terrific film book I've ever seen is here, in Español, and hundreds I've never heard of. The decor is thick with film lore. The main ceiling has a giant mural of Georges Méliès rocket having been shot into the moon's eye. Gorgeous.
More exploration and we find an art store, more bookstores and an ancient city.
Returning to Plaza de España we soak in the lights and the sound. Ice skating is irresistible though I am terrified of falling and cracking my noggin. We do not have ice skating in Dust Meridian, so this memory will stick with us indefinitely.
The hour grows late and we, hungry. After passing through a giant spherical LED screen that is playing old American cartoons, we see a sign that promises food and Flamenco dancing. The door is red and open to dark entrance. It isn't inviting unless you are a curious experience-seeker. So, I send in a probe. She is 5' and fearless, disarming men and women who find my size and white-ness intimidating.
In short order, i see a waving hand and slip into the darkness myself.
When we arrive, the show is underway. The audience and the staff are fixated on the lovely woman whirling and stomping on stage. She is gowned in sangre velvet and every part of her is alive and in controlled motion.
At first, she moves in small bursts, but the longer she dances, the more open she becomes, arms wide, dress flailing and flashing muscled thighs. Her musculature tenses and the naked parts of her become a sculpture of perfected anatomy. Her body is iron but it moves like water.
She is all but making love to the audience.
Her performance crescendos with the vocalist lifting out of his seat and whirling as he cries and dances. The sprit of dance has them in its thrall and is letting fly the dogs of war. No one is going quietly into the night on this cold December evening. The room is fully heated by the exuberance of the dancer, the vocalist and the guitarist.
Act II
Stunning young dancer. Whirling and stomping. Gorgeous and moving. Marvelous black flamenco dress with big white polka dots.
A red rose tying her hair back in a tight black wash. She’s been dancing for 10m her back and arms glisten with sweat. She is 100% physically engaged. I don’t know what story she is telling but she is speaking to my heart. I have—Chills.
Her performance is soul-shattering. I am moved to welting eyes and chills up and down my body.
The patron in front of me was also moved to tears. I can see her dabbing at her eyes. She is stunningly blond. A white Spaniard.
An older rotund man without hair is strumming his flamenco guitar, about to set it on fire with his unleashed energy.
Now a young man with a red blouse and black and white Polk dot sash is unleashing every fiber of his sole into his clatters and stumps. Motions are precise and powerful.
The Spanish patrons are shouting ‘ole’ and ‘Aya’.
The sound is quiet and then loud. His speed is inhuman.
Behind it all, the vocalist shouts and sings melodiously. Clapping and occasionally tugging his socks up as they keep sliding down as he stomps and taps in time.
I prefer the graze and motion of the women. But his skill and power are absolute undeniable.
The rhythms are chaotic and drift into synchronicity. Random and chaotic and then perfectly in sync. And I have no idea where each beat and tap is coming from. It is amazing, invigorating and moving.
I have only been here 24h and already can see the way this trip shift my soul.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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