Last week I went to my first orgy. From 8 to 10 p.m. I writhed to tribal music surrounded by men and women of all ages. We held each other, rubbed feet on feet and shoulders on shoulders, giggled like children and swayed like we were stoned. Some of us probably were. You see, Group Motion is not your ordinary dance class. It's a madhouse. And I'm going back next week.
Founded in 1972 by Penn guest lecturer Manfred Fischbeck, Group Motion is impossible to describe. There I was, lying on the floor with 30 other people, while seven musicians improvised on drums and flutes and horns. In a thick German accent, the moderator, Brigitta Herrmann, walked us through relaxation exercises. Soon the guy next to me began flailing around while an elderly man wearing only his underwear laughed uncontrollably. A Joan Baez look-alike wrapped her legs around her arms in human pretzel fashion, while she rocked to the beat of the bongo. A businessman in the center of the room did "the worm" on top of a middle-aged woman who could have been my mother. As this dance came to a frothing boil, we were instructed to use various parts of our bodies, and we did, in a sort of chaotic, cult-like frenzy. It was awesome.
One regular described the group as having "a lot of trust." That's an understatement. Near the end, I lay still, eyes closed, while someone moved my limbs and torso in the trippy "passive dance." The dancing nearly ceased and everyone made eye contact with one another. I stared at a tiny Asian woman for more than 3 minutes.
This workshop is bizarre, passionate, rejuvenating and not to be missed.
