In fact, it consists of a series of discrete movements that spotlight body parts in isolation. Imagine each movement as a stanza, with its own rhyme and meter. Taken together, they make a poem - poetry in motion. The motion part is important. The female body is beautiful, I think we can all agree - certainly more beautiful than the male version.
Circles are always more pleasing than straight lines, curves always more fetching than angles.
The magic of belly dancing is that it takes the beauty of the static female form and multiplies it a hundredfold through the mesmerizing power of movement. Which is to say that watching this spectacle was challenging for a red-blooded guy. My sensibilities kept veering from sensuous to sensual, from exotic to erotic. When Salome and her minivan-driving harem mates began cavorting with veils, I really felt like an interloper. By now, everyone had pretty much forgotten I was there, and the rite had taken on the giddy playfulness of a pajama party.