The Religion of Rhythm

Intro: Written in the late 1980s/early 1990s, I hit upon something that I discovered back in the days when I taught aerobics. Yeah, that was more than a life-time ago. There’s something healing and medicinal to be bathed in rhythms. It’s something to meditate on in our overly busy world. Enjoy. 2024-03-07.

Doheny State Beach, Dana Point by Cliff Wassmann, https://www.orangecounty.net/images/Beaches/headlands.jpg — ***Doheny State Beach, Dana Point by Cliff Wassmann***

I knew a painfully quiet, tall thin redhead. Whenever her unspoken existence grew overly troublesome she would climb into her tan Toyota mini-pickup and head for Doheny State Beach. With the waves crashing against the rocks below her cliffside perch, her late afternoon solitude would turn into solace.

It made little sense to me that her withdrawn existence would somehow be mended by more loneliness. Nor were her pilgrimages fueled by vague religious memories equating the healing presence of the Divine with Mother Oceana. No, I believe her pilgrimages were fueled by something far simpler. It was not Mother Oceana that she was revisiting, but in the gentle rhythm of the waves she was reliving the distant childhood memories of rocking in her own mother’s arms.

I doubt that it was even conscious on her part—Adults do not easily admit to revisiting such childhood places. But the phenomenon is certainly not limited to my quiet withdrawn friend.

I can remember a time when, while participating in more traditional religious expression, I forgot the troubles of the day and let go of the crushing pressures of an insecure adolescense. Of course I thought that it was God who was doing all of the work. It would have seemed blasphemous to suggest that the simple rhythms of worship were the agents at work making my soul feel so good (but that goes a long way in explaining why stiffled book-read services felt so dead). Something about the singing and uninhibited praying felt like rocking in my mother’s arms.

But the phenomenon is not restricted to the world of the overtly religious or spiritual. Something as carnal as the dance can recall that forgotten cocoon of security.

I have long since left the world of the Ancient Testament for the World of Cardiovascular Exercise and hundred dollar plus workout shoes. Interestingly, even in a world that can be so pretentious, I have felt that old soothing, re-energizing presence.

As an aerobic instructor I know that it is possible to take it past the pretension and the posing. Let the uneducated philistine fixate on women bouncing about in lycra g-string outfits. Such an individual sells himself short. With the rhythm of the music and the enthusiasm of a roomful of people I have felt the thunderous power of the ocean’s waves. At such a time I have also heard the joyous cacophony of the faithful giving their all and receiving re-energizing refreshment for their effort. Even as we cool down and rhythmically isolate and stretch our tired arms, shoulders, chests, stomachs, thighs, and calves there is something here that goes beyond mere sensuality.

It isn’t God and it isn’t a panacea for the world’s ills. But there is something about the rhythm that can be re-centering and revitalizing. Perhaps I am being reminded of that time long before I could have even formed such memories. Perhaps it is just part of the human self-healing process. Perhaps rhythm is its own religion. I just know that at such times I am revisited by the wholeness of being in my mother’s arms.