the year of the dance

I never really understood what David meant about turning our mourning into dancing until now. I mean, I understood how it could happen, but its different when you actually come to that point. There comes a moment where you are so sorrowful that you ahve to just start moving one step at a time. You move your heart and your left foot, then your mind and your right, and you lift your hands with your sorrow and you find yourself listening for the next beat, the next movement. You start to pattern yourself in the rhythm of God because you are so tired and weary and empty that you are straining to hear through all the other noise and emotion for something consistant and strong. Something steadfast. Its then that you realize that you are engaged in a dance that is messy and painful, but so beautiful all the same. It's beautiful because its your story, its your life, and you are falling in love all over again with the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. There is incredible power in that.

It's amazing to me how life seems to always come back on itself. I wrote this on my birthday last year.

It’s the morning of your birthday, I guess the year isn’t so much important as the fact that it’s just been another year in that crazy time where you have no idea who you are, who you are going to be, or where on this huge planet you are going. This morning though, that doesn’t so much matter. You grab your cup of tea, and head down to the water, knowing that in a house full of people that is the only place where you are going to be able to free yourself, even if only for five minutes. You stick your headphones in your ears and start down the wet stone path, one foot in front of the other down to the water.

You have always loved the water, for some reason it feels like home to you. Its not as if you were raised on it, or really near it, but there is something about the movement of the waves, and its depth and fluidity that has always calmed you. Regardless, you find yourself on the dock that due to the high tide has almost risen over the land platform that it rests on. The clip falls out of your hair, but you figure its better that way and let the wind that is steadily capping the water have its way with the remnants of your bed head. The dock moves slowly under your feet and you can’t help but get lost in the music that is pumping through your head, and your feet start to glide along the wet planks under your feet. One step, and then two, slowly spinning, tea still in hand. It’s times like this that you wonder how you ever lived without being able to dance. The movement of the water, and the sound of the piano and you, somehow that feeling is so familiar to you, but you can’t place it exactly. Nor can you see anything but the river, carrying off in all directions. One movement carries you into the next and you are totally lost. Suddenly you remember why this feels so familiar to you, and why you can’t help but be happy in this moment, because the water, the music, and the dance are home. They are that place where you feel alive and free. Everyone always talks about freedom, but until you are there, you really don’t have any idea what they are talking about. It’s moments like this that you realize that home has absolutely nothing to do with location. You’re not smiling, but you’re happy, maybe happier than you have been in a long time, and you stand with your face into the wind, your hair flying in a tangled knot, and both your hands clutching your tea to your chest, because that is the closest you can get to holding yourself. And in that one moment, for a reason you can’t understand or explain, you are completely satisfied and content. For those few minutes you know that if this is all life ends up to be about, you’ll be ok. And if in the last days of your life, you are standing on the water, clutching your tea to your chest and dancing with the north blowing wind, then maybe you will have done alright. (9/17/05)