Monday, February 24, 2014

Dance is my language

Since I can remember thinking thoughts like this, I've known that expressing myself with total fidelity would involve not a single word. My story, my song, my portrait, my compassion, even my apology would be a dance. A swirling, muscled parade across a wide stage. An epic stretch from the fingers on my left hand through the toes on my right foot. Joy would be pirouette in attitude. Fear a open-mouthed back bend. Sadness a deep bend in the knees until no one could tell where I ended and the vast floor began.

Every once in a while, I come across a song that seems a perfect setting for one of these imaginary episodic dances. It's almost painful to listen to while sitting still.

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