Dance has become like breathing for me.
Obsession some might say. It doesn't matter. I've stopped wondering about whether it is or isn't.
The falafel shop in town plays the best music. I move my hips in line, feeling the rise of juice from my toes to my fingers. I move for those who are afraid to or who have forgotten how to. At my local music venue, I move amongst the drunk, stoned and sober, caring little for anything other than the ancient calling to move that is in my blood. I delight in the connection to the random stranger on the dance floor and allow myself to engage in a laughter driven duet mirroring and exploding with fire with no other purpose than to remember what it's like to pursue pleasure for pleasure's sake.
To delight in pleasure and dare I say, the erotic, is a revolutionary act in these times. Dancing is making love to my soul at a time when love is desperately needed.
I light up when people tell me that they have enjoyed watching me dance. It doesn't feel creepy or complimentary in a shallow kind of way. I love watching me dance, too. It makes me think that maybe while they saw me dancing that they remembered their own soul dance and got just a little closer to it.
I believe that we bless the space we inhabit when anyone of us follow a call to joy. At this point in my life, joy is synonymous with pleasure and pleasure with the erotic.
We need each other to commit to acts joy without toning it down for fear of being "too much". When I dance, I delight in my own joy and I love the erotic waves of light and dark that flow around and within me.
Dancing is one of the few places where I forget to apologize for my body and mind. I get to be both hard and soft, smooth and sharp. It's a place that I get to touch something magnificent and sacred without it becoming ladened with expectations and dogma.
It's wild play and holy union, all at the same time.
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