Living The Dance

I’ve been asked to write of the possibility of applying my experience as a dancer to everyday living. Can I live as I have danced? Can I approach my dailly encounters with family, friends and acquaintances with the same strong faith in my gestures, whatever they turn out to be?

As a dancer, I have experienced a sense of unity countless times, whether with students, fellow dancers, or audience members. I have flowed with the energy that comes my way, allowing my own to mesh fearlessly with that of another. Through dance, I yield my personality to a larger reality. This does not mean I sacrifice myself. It is rather that when I embrace my self in all its guises, yielding comes naturally. The self I yield is wholly loved and wholly lovable. Therefore, the other is also wholly loved and wholly lovable. I see with my larger self the dance of the other. Difference is discernible, but not divisible – when I am a dancer.

So, am I not a dancer as I go about my life each day, or do I set aside that self – secure and trusting in her vulnerability –  to act a part designed to please the ones that may reject the dancer or the dance? If this is the case, then oh what a foolish game I play. For I am rejecting the one whose dance is based upon knowing she is loved.

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4 Responses to “Living The Dance”

  1. Kendall Says:

    I have sat with this for a long time while other crises swirl around me. I have thought about it. I don’t know, but I suspect, that it is not demanded of us to live every day, every moment, out of our best possible stuff. We develop, with great discipline and a lifetime of application, conduits between ourselves and the eternal. Through these conduits–one of which, in your case, is dance–we get glimpses of unity, harmony, a connection of ourselves with the best and the highest that is. What some call God. But I don’t think that even the saints, if there are such things, are expected to live their whole daily lives in constant connection with God. This is what it is to be human: to be flawed, to be fallible, to be imperfect and incapable of maintaining in every moment of our lives, a living and unbroken connection with that which is Eternal. That we glimpse it at all, through these conduits, is a miracle in itself. To expect to live in that altered and transcendent state in our every day lives, as mothers and grandmothers, is asking more than I think is fair. You are not foolish. You are human. And so am I. That’s my two cents.

  2. leiflife Says:

    And it is a very thoughtful, loving, and wise two cents. This blog post is, of course, incomplete. I so realized the pressure I was putting upon myself that I could go no further with it – simply threw up my hands and published it as it was. I had written the first part before my long weekend with grandchildren. A definite opportunity for every human flaw to surface and for grace to see me through it.
    Sort of… Even as love for them is a certainty in my heart, the same heart weeps for the solitude to recover, my body droops with exhaustion.

  3. Christopher Says:

    Never static…
    “solitude itself is a way of waiting for the inaudible and the invisible make itself felt. And that is why solitude is never static and never hopeless. On the other hand, every friend who comes to stay enriches the solitude forever ; presence, if it has been real presence, does not leave.” –May Sarton

  4. leiflife Says:

    Thank you so much for this, Christopher. You enrich my solitude by existing – as does Kendall. …”real presence, does not leave”. Such comforting words…

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