“Step back you’re dancing kinda close. I feel a little pulse running through…”
Stepping out onto the deck at Commodore Barry, a NYC public pool in Fort Greene, I see a little dance party breaking out with some staff and join in. They welcome me enthusiastically; and we all wiggle and shimmy for a few joyful minutes.
“Thank you! It’s been such a hard day. And this made me so happy!” I try to hide that I’m heaving with sobs and make my way to the lap swim side of the pool. I greet a very dear, old friend, then push off the wall, loving the dancing ribbons of sunlight on the bottom of the pool and chugging hard, slapping my feet as I come over in the turns.
After our swim, I sit in the park with the same friend, and a whole cascade of woes come tumbling out.
The top one is that I lost a good friend two days ago. Many of us lost a good friend. Hundreds, maybe even thousands just lost a good friend. A viola player and teacher, she was loved by many, and was incredibly accomplished in her field. She has been my collaborator in a weekly dance class for almost two years; and we’ve worked closely together.
She was one of very few people in the world who honestly believed I am completely correct and good. I’m starting to think she thought that of a lot of people, though I still choose to believe that we had a special connection.
We’ve danced it and danced it and danced it.
One day in late June, her brother, who has been her devoted caretaker, sent messages to many of her friends and family sharing that she was at the stage of hospice and would love to see us.
Karen Ritscher’s doctor said she had come to a point when they could no longer treat her illnesses and that she likely had just a day or two left.
I went running.
When I walked into her hospital room, she said, “Did you hear? I’m dying! But I feel great. I’m not in pain. And I don’t have to worry about anything now.” She also shared that she has no regrets.
In the hospital, we danced to the song “On the Other Side of Here” by our teacher, Gabrielle Roth. Karen seemed radiant.
As I left, I said good bye, I thought for the very last time.
She shared that she wanted to be at home so she could be with her cats, and her brother and sister made it happen. She was set up in the middle of her living room with a hospital bed and a bell she could use to call her brother if she needed him at night.
The next time I visited I was sure would be the last.
“How are you, Karen?”
“I’m good, except I’m trying to die, and I’m not doing a very good job at it,” she joked.
She was dressed up, in makeup and oversize, stylish glasses. Her eyes shone, and she seemed to be glowing. There were hospice tubes and equipment, but the room was dominated by crystals, special objects, artwork, and the scent of the many cut flowers that were in vases on every surface of the room, including the top of the baby grand piano.
I got to spend the afternoon with her that day. There were people in and out, but I was blessed to have her mostly to myself for many patient minutes. Time washed over us like water, nowhere to go, nothing to prove, nothing to be. Only presence and love. And so many beautiful stories.
Her brother, David, massaged her feet as she told another story.
I said good bye. I said I love you. I said I’ll see you on the other side. “I’ll see you on the other side,” she said in response, her bright eyes shining.
Then I went away for a week, thinking I would never get to see Karen again in this life.
After I got back, Karen was still with us. I led Body Waves, the 5Rhythms class that Karen and I created together, on Friday night. Despite mid-summer travel, we were at capacity, and there was an extra flavor of the sacred.
The rhythm that led us on that Friday night was Stillness, the rhythm of the absolute. The place that all things arise from and return to. This was the same rhythm that vibrated in Karen’s living room as she moved through her final graceful exit.
I danced on Sunday morning. Hard! Really hard. Drenched-with-sweat, ring-out-your-clothes hard.
I saw David on the way in to class. He shared that Karen had almost left us in the very early morning, that he had been in ritual with her for much of the night.
I kept my eye on David for much of the dance. At one point, I couldn’t lay eyes on him, and feared he’d left because of receiving news. I lingered near him as much as I could. Then I thought maybe I should stay near the door. In case he was leaving early so I could drive him.
Eventually, I realized that I was trying too hard to control what wasn’t actually controllable, and let go of tracking David, surrendering fully into the dance, sinking low into the hips, rocking my pelvis, and sharing dances with anyone who crossed my path and was receptive to partnership.
At the end of the class, David was still there.
I asked if it would be ok to drive him home; and maybe even visit Karen. He checked his calendar, checked in with a possible lunch date, then said sure, let’s do it.
So I got to see Karen one more time. My third good bye. I was all sweaty from dance, but she was again well turned out in a beautiful dress–a black ground with brightly colored stripes. A friend had organized a pedicure, and her toenails were an impeccable cherry red–the same color as her viola case.
This time the room was very full, and I had to share Karen with many friends and family members.
On Monday night I barely slept.
Tuesday morning I woke to David’s text message, simply stating “Karen has passed on.”
I spent the day scrub-cleaning the entire apartment and talking on the phone, sharing grief and memories with others who also loved Karen.
Again, we danced. The very same night. 5Rhythms teacher Ray Diaz was leading, and Laura and Tsonga, who had been Karen’s drumming teacher, accompanied on drums.
“I have some news,” I whispered in the ear of a long-time dancer-friend. Her face grew reflective and attentive. “Oh no. I already know what you’re going to say.”
Ray dragged us low, pushed us to explore the room, and modulated long stretches of Chaos with softer passages in the face of the grueling heat.
I was in white to honor spirit. My long skirt got under my feet so I tucked its edges into the waistband and got low, rocking, vibrating, shimmying.
After a warmup, Tsonga and Laura began to drum, Laura holding steady, Tsonga with syncopated polyrhythms.
Ray talked about salsa, which he shared was part of his personal heritage, and how it’s all based on four counts. He said there are set combinations, 89 in total. In contrast to salsa’s set forms, he encouraged us to break out of our patterns.
I loved this encouragement, but I realized I was actually on the opposite journey. I had just come back from Puerto Rico with my son and niece. Dancing salsa, it was a challenge for me to follow, and a challenge for me to be on the same beat as everyone else.
That’s one of the reasons collaborating with Karen on the Body Waves class was such a joy. It’s not easy to work with other people when your own beat is a wildly galloping fireworks display, but with Karen, who meets the force of my chaotic explosiveness with her own wild beat, we found a rhythm together.
We joined forces in late 2023, and took turns leading different themes over the course of several weeks. Despite her incredible determination, she was ravaged with several serious diseases. I can’t really know what it took her to show up every night she was scheduled, but I do imagine it must have taken superhuman effort.
Karen left us on Tuesday in the very early morning–the sacred stretch just before the night transitions back into day.
That Tuesday night, I felt like I could hear and feel Karen everywhere.
At the end of the class, I found a vibrant Stillness, with pauses and twitters, my hands sometimes scurrying after one another, my upper body tilting forward, balanced by a leg or arm, seeming to find new ways to expand my energetic field.
As the music faded away, a group of a dozen or so dancers surrounded David on the floor, embracing and supporting him, and perhaps comforting our own selves in the process.
5Rhythms teacher Alyssa Jurewicz-Johns, who in May joined Karen and I in offering the Body Waves class, led a beautiful session on Friday night. It ended with a ritual where each participant was invited to say their name and share one gesture in Karen’s honor.
The Sunday after Karen’s transition, David gathered local 5Rhythms teachers and a few producers and crew members to honor Karen’s legacy. We sat in a circle in her apartment and shared remembrances. I was touched when another 5Rhythms teacher asked me a question, opening a door and inviting me to share my story with the group. I heaved with sobs several times, both for grief and because the beauty of Karen’s life and legacy touched me so deeply.
One of Karen’s close friends, another 5Rhythms teacher, asked her often during this period, “How is it now?” One of the last times she asked this, Karen, radiant, answered, “Life is ecstasy.”
Most dear Karen, I celebrate your vibrant, generous, creative life. Thank you for your many gifts and blessings. I am better for having walked this stretch of the path with you. May your legacy flourish, may you have an auspicious rebirth, and may you continue to dance wherever you are now.
I’ll see you on the other side.
July 27, 2025, Broad Brook, Connecticut
Photo of Karen Ritscher with her viola by Julie Skarratt
Meghan LeBorious is an author, designer, mother, and educator. She has been dancing the 5Rhythms since 2008 and joined the circle of 5Rhythms teachers in 2021. She has also been formally practicing meditation since 2006 within a tradition that emphasizes the idea that everything we experience, including painful emotions and challenges, can be included on the path to self-discovery and freedom. This writing is about her personal experiences on the 5Rhythms dancing path; and does not necessarily represent the views of the 5Rhythms organization.