Dance possesses a charm that transcends mere bodily movement. Throughout history, it has been regarded as a force potent enough to shift mountains, or at least cause the earth to tremble beneath our feet.
Ancient civilisations were not oblivious to this strength, capturing it within their mythologies, where dancing figures transformed not only their environment but themselves as well.
Within the Greek Pantheon, women were prominent figures in this ethereal practice. Maenads or bacchanals, devotees of Dionysus, the deity of wine and frenzy, reigned supreme in a state of ecstasy.
With their necks thrown back, they moved with an almost supernatural intensity, a passion immortalised in works of art such as those depicting maenads in the Prado Museum.
However, this dance was not simply a spectacle for the eyes; it represented the creation and destruction of the universe, an endless cycle that countless cultures have endeavoured to emulate through their rituals.
Journeying to Ancient Egypt reveals Hathor, the goddess who danced to bestow fertility upon the land, while in Hindu culture, Shiva performs his renowned “dance of furious joy” as Sri Nataraja, initiating the universe’s cycle.
Even within Yoruba tradition, Shango engages in a dance that intertwines the mighty and the divine, while in Celtic lore, Lug causes the earth to tremble with his powerful arm.
Between the Sacred and the Mundane
Yet, we need not venture far to uncover sacred dances and enchanted woods. In Spain, the landscape is marked by locations where dancing was far more than mere amusement.
Take, for instance, the Anaga Forest in Tenerife, a realm steeped in Guanche legends and lore, where the women of yore – the magicians – performed sacred dances potentially aimed at securing the land’s fertility and invoking the deities’ favour.
This forest is not merely an ecological remnant of prehistoric laurel woods, but a mystical sanctuary where time appears to stand still. Its caves, such as the linen cave, served as the abode of our ancestors, and their dance halls, particularly in the Anaga massif, are silent witnesses to ancient rites.
Could these dances be an echo of the Greek maenads, reshaped by local customs into nocturnal enchantresses? It is conceivable. What remains evident is that this location forms a convergence between the sacred and the earthly, where dance continues to serve as a conduit to the divine.
