Maybe that's the key to dancing without lacerating the body. Often it seems as if we dance from a place of longing. The body empty, filled only with longing for that capricious dance-god-lover. We are reduced (or driven) to being that dancer of the Varnam, OCDing about whether the flowers are OK, whether you smell alright, whether the furniture is arranged in the right place. But if we dance from a place of being desired, as if we were already in the arms of the lover-god, the body is soft and open and full. Dance, then, as if you've just been fucked.
No. Because sometimes that leaves you empty and filled with longing also.
Dance as the beloved. Dance to the beloved.