Dance of Life

I rather like the life of a poet. Traveling and writing; telling stories and meeting new people. Dancing. Okay, perhaps that last one is not necessary to be living the life of a poet, but it is necessary for my poetry.

For me, dancing is the missing connection between hearts. Sure, we can speak words which allude to feelings, and we can hold hands as though treating the other as a transfusion, but dancing creates a rhythmic connection as though the body is moving within the beat of a universal heart – add to this that two bodies are moving together connected by hands to make a circle unbroken – dancing is alchemy for transmuting music to movement through hearts powered by feet.

The common metaphor for life in today's culture is one which refers to life as a race. We are all trying to get somewhere the fastest. I'm still not sure towards what we are racing, but it promises to hit us with the casual snap of a broken ribbon. I am not so sure I want to know what is at the end. Races never really end. People are always running. Or training to be able to run that much faster than their opponent in the next race. What are we running from? To what are we running? Where does this all go? Why do we look so beat when we cross the finish line? I can't make sense of a metaphor in which little is left to interpretation. So, instead, I'd like to turn toward a different metaphor altogether. If one doesn't like the concept with which he is faced, one must invent new words or supplant the old ideas with one more fitting. So, I turn back the hands of the clock into a time less focused on time but more so on timing.

In the Middle Ages, the prominent metaphor for life was that of a dance. I feel as though this makes more sense because music is ephemeral. It will not last any longer than the vibration of a string, the stirring of air. Lungs power music as much as hands do. Music has a definitive ending point, but we can replay the song in our minds a million times over without – melodies get stuck in our minds like stories. Music ends, but it can be replayed, and no one wins at the end of the song except for those who danced. If life is a dance, then we only need to tap into timings in order to tap into time. Feet don't have to move, but when they do to a rhythm, a beauty emerges. And it expands in every direction.

Life is not linear.

Music is not linear.

Dances are not linear, and music is interpretation rather than command. A poet speaks in rhythm just as bodies speak in dance.

Races have a right answer and a wrong time.

Dancers need not apologize.

So don't apologize when your feet feel too tired to move, you are not running a race with points to its end; you are engaged in a dance where the universe holds your hand. Listen to the rhythm and fear not the end of the song; we all will be dipped, but this dip is one of beauty and is not to be feared because we will not be dropped. We will not be dropped. We need not compete to get underground faster.

And I will remember to live, breathe, love, and dance.