“This is your time, this is your dance; live every moment, leave nothing to chance. Swim in the sea, drink of the deep; embrace the mystery of all you can be.” ~ Michael W. Smith
An idea has been oscillating in my head as of late. Of movement, nature, and time as one divine thing. Ticking clocks, the sound of Irish pipes, love songs, and a sky filled with stars. And a coming of age and innocence. Some thinkers perceive the ancient Greek goddess/muse of dance as a metaphor for the cosmic dance to which the entire universe moves. Terpsichore. “Delight in dancing” is what her name means. Yes, she’s a myth, but imagine: a powerful, radiant woman personified as the passion and rhythm of this universe. A force of orderliness that can’t be escaped. That is a beat to which I can sync.
365. (Plus seven, because life threw me a curve-ball when I originally intended to sit down and write this.) That’s the number of days it’s been since that first ballroom lesson. Eyes closed. Come away with me…a reminiscence on the day the music came alive. Let it be known that music was my first love, and has remained the story of my life. But. This particular day forever changed how I now hear it. Like a living river, the music rushed over me with a wave that took my breath away. I could hear the movement. I could feel the sound. And metaphorically speaking, it was LOUD. My ears felt different. Synesthesia maybe? The experience floored me. Putting my feet to the beat unleashed a philharmonic symphony. The beat could be mine! I had never felt so alive. I realized from then until way past forever, I wanted to get swept up in the current wherever it was going.
The universe. A pendulum swinging in the midst of randomness and dark matter. Quite the paradox. I suppose that describes the human experience. Making our way through the chaos and darkness…finding our balance in the rise and fall…our place in this world. We infinitely take 2 steps forward and back. We lose our footing, feel stretched beyond our limits, spin out…hit rock bottom. But it’s permissible, even good...to make mistakes. That’s how we learn to dance. It sounds so basic. While some humans on this earth are quick, I have found myself slow to learn this lesson. My trademark style was a figure eight pattern of resistance to failure with foolish perfectionism as my partner. A technique of cyclical madness. It has only been in recent years of opening myself to new experiences that I have become progressive in my position on fear and failure. Yes, this crossover has brought on feelings of being broken beyond measure. But. As time marches on, I get higher…stronger…and the ensuing lessons are like gold.
We spin and swing and sway. Slide this way and that. We are not promised a perfectly choreographed routine when we start our journey. Life could paint us a beautiful smooth waltz in the moonlight, yet beneath that portrait could be a syncopated tango with wolves howling at the moon. The dances don’t always jive. We never know what turn may come, what is out there lurking in the shadows. But…the correct form is to own the next step. And the next, and the next…for the rest of your life. Keep counting it out; it’s worth the effort. Dancing is nourishment for the soul. A diamond-like twinkle in the eye. A smile that can’t be contained. Some may call it mad love. I say it’s joy immeasurable...
This is me…a terpsichore in motion on this planet that’s spinning, yes, dancing! (This reality may or may not produce feelings of anxiety within me.) When I’m moving my body, it feels like the universe can’t contain my passion; like I’m a chick in the egg creating pressure to break out of it’s shell. While I love the groundedness of contact with the earth, underwater has become my desired location for practice. I have found that the resistance has become one of my greatest teachers. Not just for dance…but for life.
Take my hand; we’ll be united in this mysterious cosmic dance. Maybe a little bachata action. And on and on we’ll go…
Blue Moon Muse 