I've been dancing to traditional Greek folk music since I was eight years old. There's one dance we call the Bulgarian (probably because it's more Bulgarian than Greek in style). It's fast. It moves in a circle, not just to the right but to the left, too.
It's my favorite dance because there's more to it than speed and direction. When I do this dance with a small group, six or eight people, and we can keep a tight circle, I start to feel like I can float above the ground—not constantly, but in moments. Between tapping feet and switching directions, there's a moment when all of our feet are in the air, and the circle in spinning. I feel like I'm watching a carousel, except I'm moving and everything else is standing still.
Then something else happens. The longer we go, the higher we jump, the slower time passes. I hear the beats in the music, but I feel the gap. Somehow, the faster I move, the slower it feels and I can focus on everything I see. Nothing is a blur because I am the movement.
This lasts for three and a half minutes and then our feet stop, exactly on the last beat of the song. I should be catching my breath. (I'm not.) I should feel a bit dizzy from the spinning. (I don't.) The time inside my head and the time of the world sync up again. I leave the floating circle and walking off the stage feels too normal.