The Third Presence: On Duende, Daimons & the Ecstasy of Tango
In 1933, Spanish poet and theater director Federico Garcia Lorca gave a lecture in Buenos Aires titled “Play and Theory of the Duende,” in which he addressed the fiery spirit behind what makes great performance stir the emotions:
“The duende, then, is a power, not a work. It is a struggle, not a thought. I have heard an old maestro of the guitar say, ‘The duende is not in the throat; the duende climbs up inside you, from the soles of the feet.’ Meaning this: it is not a question of ability, but of true, living style, of blood, of the most ancient culture, of spontaneous creation … everything that has black sounds in it, has duende.”
This is the spirit that cannot be translated. And yet, we spend our lives trying to feel it.
The Genie/Daimon
Psychologist James Hillman described a similar force, not as a muse, but as a personal daimon—an accompanying guide who remembers your calling:
“The daimon motivates. It protects. It invents and persists with stubborn fidelity. It resists compromising reasonableness and often forces deviance and oddity upon its keeper… It has affinities with myth, since it is itself a mythical being and thinks in mythical patterns.”
Each life is formed by its unique image, an essence that calls us to a destiny. For me, that daimon speaks most clearly when I dance.
She Asked Me How It Feels to Dance Tango
Art forms that include the duende cannot be translated, and so it is difficult to describe the feelings, because they cannot be accurately described.
Sometimes, the duende decides to become part of my dance. Something is created anew that I have never felt before. It might be like having sex a new way and finding out there is not just a "G" spot, but a "T" spot, and a "K" spot. And it may be that it happens that one time and never more.
Feelings with no names are born inside of me when I dance tango with an excellent partner. These feelings are similar to the words divine and ecstasy and creative play, but those words don't describe it. Dancing tango ignites life inside of me that then becomes part of a dream world; an inner garden that grows wantonly during the dance, showering metaphoric petals and leaves and light around us.
It feels like being a small child nestled in front of her father enjoying a horseback ride. Since daddy is holding the reins, she can rock along, stare at clouds, and open or close her eyes because everything is safe. The horse is so huge, but she is held firmly next to the trusted body of a person who is keeping her safe.
In tango, the leader is responsible for the follower's safety. The follower can create her own embellishments and be as free as she dares, because she knows her partner will contain her and she will not lose herself.
The way I dance depends on the composition and the orchestra. Some pieces are weighty and dangerous, others are desperate, and milongas are frisky and lighthearted.
Dancing tango feels like I am reincarnating as a rare and precious jewel. I am unique, I am radiant, and my healing rays sparkle and glow.
Sometimes I feel like a ship's figurehead boldly breaking waves on a raging sea, or an ecstatic mother snuggling her tender newborn, or as if I am standing on a train platform filled with dread and sadness, clinging to my departing lover.
When tango milongas play, I feel rushed and relaxed all at once. My feet must move very fast, but I must disregard my thinking mind and let my body respond to the lead as a second skin. Milonga is like being a guest at a surprise birthday party trying to hide and suppress a giggle before the door flies open.
When tango vals is on, I unwrap my body slowly until long rivers of colored silk feel like they are flying from my feet, fingers, hair. I feel free. I soar. It feels like reaching the top of the roller coaster ride and beginning the downhill plummet, but then I am saved by the kinetic whirl of my partner.
Dancing authentic tango is similar to the call and response in church. The music makes an artistic statement, the leader creates a response, and the follower embellishes the response or says "Amen."
When the duende is present during my dance, a tidal pull of creation begins at an unknown source within my body. This pull is greater than me and far more powerful than traditional gravity. I am finally squeezing drops of the Sun from my own, holy body.
