She was stumbling over her feet, the new dance routine, the intimacy and passion of the rhythms, the emotions expressed. Her performance was stilted, awkward, controlled.
“Look at me, not at your feet! Keep your eyes focused on my eyes with intensity and connection. We don’t perform the dance as two separate bodies. We embody the dance. The dance moves us. It’s all about the dance.”
Her partner, dance coach, encouraged and pushed her to forget her “self” consciousness, to surrender into the dance, to trust him and move with him. To be one with him and the dance.
Their performance was spellbinding. Their eyes never wavered from the eyes of the other. Their steps, their rhythm, their moves were flawless. Barely space for a breath of air separated their oneness. The dance informed every heartbeat, every exchange between eyes and hands, their bodies in constant fluid motion. Judges gave them the highest scores and ebullient praise. A standing ovation, loud and long, animated the crowd.
“It’s not about you and me. It’s about the dance.”
His words resonate in me; they feel authentic, mystical and profound. I see their application constantly and everywhere. In the give and take in families, the intensity of young lovers, the mellowed understanding between old friends and long lasting coupleships. In communication between humans and their pets. In earth and sky, daylight and darkness, seasons of nature and seasons of life. The oneness of all things is not an abstraction. It is the reality that offers itself to us moment by moment. Sometimes it’s hidden, just waiting to be found and embraced. It’s not for the timid, those afraid to dance. It is for the bold, those with courage and stamina to go all the way, not knowing what is around the next corner. His words, such encouragement and push beyond safety into the void. Telling me – and you – to forget about getting it right, feeling awkward, making mistakes, being controlled and dis-passionate. Telling us to let the dance live through us. To be the dance is all!
glistening in shallow pools
left by last night’s rain
all along the backroads,
in bird baths,
and the centers of wild poppies
ascending through branches
of budding lilac bushes
leaving long-forgotten traces
of grandmother’s cologne
and bouquets in glass vases
on a weathered picnic table
pausing in recollections
of hazy skies and heat lightning
in June and the silence
of wild iris on deserted hillsides
of an old homestead
quivering in northern sky aurora
on clear July nights
when air currents release the weight
of dreams and reality is
the ruffled flight of an owl
reflecting flickering candlelight
in facets of memory
within the confines
of the anniversary ring
when you gave me
pab © 12 may 2016