The Unquellable Dance

The dancer has been chosen; “Pure Joy” will dance her way onto a New York wall. Apparently, the lines were strong and clear enough to state her case, or to state the case of her creator. My emissary she will be; flaunting fluently the womanly curves I have lived to celebrate – still live to celebrate. Yes… Even as the body ages and the dance would seem to be diminishing, the dancer lives within – emerging powerfully  to state her case. She is adept at adaptation – flowing forth through the materials at hand. Soulful determination takes on form; whether it be through words, wire, clay, or ink on paper.

If I am honest with myself, the dancer spins her magic even when my obvious co-operation appears to be dormant. For I can see the dance that lives within – perceive it in the world I occupy – receive it in the easy gliding motions of a great blue heron, the frolicing abandon of my unleashed dogs, the flutter and sway of a pinetree in the wind. I see reflected what I cultivate within. Pure Joy will out regardless of one’s mood or state of weariness.

One recent evening I was witness to a dance of such determined joy that I could not deny my secret participation. I watched  my baby grandson – not yet crawling, yet so clearly moving with the forceful joy of a river in spate. The momentum of the life-force in his small sure body was unquellable. After a bath – not yet encased in diaper or protective sleepwear, the beauty of his rolling and reaching, curling  and unfurling progress around the room was mesmerizing and enchanting. Also, definitely reminiscent of the old floor improvisation engaged in by my students in every Airth class. I have long taught the use of gravity – surrender to the flow of weight, so recognized the baby’s inherent attunement to natural law. My own awareness made of me participant, but this one had no need of teacher.  His pure pleasure in the moment was his inspiration.

Later, I must confine still quivering limbs – prepare the reluctant child for bed and carry him into the kitchen to heat his bottle. In the brief space of time it took to walk from room to room, I felt his weight subside in sweet relief against my body. I paused, delayed my pupose, turned my head to breathe in yet another dance. This dance was still, yet pulsing with the love set free by  mutual trust. Bone-weary as I was – and hardly in dancer mode – this dance was dance enough: pure joy released.

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