Blessed Pause

In the dance, I have always trusted those moments when movement arrives at a stillness so profound that one is liberated from the obvious dance of the physical body. This effortless pause exists between the breaths; it can happen at the crest or in the trough. Isadora called it the “moment of repose”. It is easily recognizable when I am dancing; though brief, it feels eternal. It is the bliss that makes the dance worthwhile.

In the dance of every day life, it is more difficult to recognize the pause as spiritual, less clear that this is a moment that could refresh. Even as I have always known my dance of Airth as a model for the dance of life, I rarely achieve in life the fluid acceptance that comes so naturally to my dancing body. These days as my physical dance subsides somewhat, I know that the dance  I face each day is the dance I am learning to trust. Instead of the special room set aside for my focused practice, with nothing to distract me from my bliss, I do my awkward best to sustain my dance – with distraction as my less than ideal partner.

So where is the “moment of repose”? Well, occasionally these are forced upon us. What seems an interruption of our precious routine can be percieved as the blessed pause our souls are craving. Grace intervenes in the form of a common cold. Grace, or baby Bryce, infected my system with just the right germs to suspend the usual gestures. I am held in the trough of minor discomfort, just enough physical disability to draw out my stillness over several days. Laryngitus has stolen my voice, and during this strange suspension of my vocal cords,  I find myself listening to a voice that seems to issue from another place. This voice soothes and calms and loves me into a state of trust. I trust my children and their children to survive without me, and other family  members to move through their lives free of my little efforts at pleasing and pacifying. I am blessedly silent, blessedly still. Even the dogs can get by with moderate response from their beloved mistress. Love is a given.

And what of the artist’s gestures, the painting that fiercely splashed itself onto last week’s paper. Well, the top of the crest was achieved, and the breathed out blog that followed. Now I rest in pondering mode as it tells me to linger a while. In this time of gestation – this grace-filled moment, I need do nothing.


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2 Responses to “Blessed Pause”

  1. Kendall Says:

    T.S. Eliot, in Little Gidding, calls it the stillness between two waves of the sea. There the dance is.

  2. leiflife Says:

    Yes, I remember… “Little Gidding” We understood his words and what it could mean to be “At the still point..” And that was before I called my dance Airth.

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