Sweeping over a body
Transported to a different
Time and place.
Arms outstretched, reaching
Waiting for that
Inhale
A drop of music
A light slowly lifts
Illuminating a dancer
Slowly, surely, twisting, turning
Reaching, folding
Flowing across the space.
A rush of Joy
Infusing a body
Delighting in the
Freedom of motion
Spinning a tale
A sense of wonder
Within
The ebb of music
Releasing a mind and body
Returning to
Time and place
Arms outstretched, reaching
Finally allowed to
Exhale.
My mom used to say that if I could get away with it I’d dance everywhere. I’d dance in parking lots waiting for my family to unload from the van. I’d dance, skipping and twirling through the grocery store using the slippery stage to get the best turns. I’d dance on my way to class. I’d dance, swaying and shifting, while chatting with friends. I’d pretend to be a ballerina twirling across the field. I’d dance, a making all my own. Eight years of Hula, thirteen years of piano, and seven years of chorus all developed my sense of rhythm, musicality and love of all things dance. I think I danced because when I wasn’t dancing I became this clumsy, tottering, awkward body, fighting gravity not trip and fall. My parents bought me my own pair of crutches, torture sticks, because I broke and sprained my ankles so many times it was pointless to keep renting some. For some reason, when I was dancing I never had that fear of falling, crashing to the ground.
In college I took a dance class every semester, Ballet, Jazz, Modern, Choreography, Creative Movement. I was never the prima ballerina, and didn’t really want to be. I just wanted to dance. That freedom of movement, that joyful breath of life, would take over my soul and send me reaching beyond myself. I would practice at midnight, above the dorms on the darkened street, illuminated only by streetlights and this joy of movement. The twists and turns of motion would erase any fevered tears, or frantic thoughts. My favorite time was when it was raining, I’d dance feeling perfectly free, delight bubbling up to come out through my movements.
After four adventurous, exciting years this was to be my last dance, the last time I would have to show what joy I got from dance. A last time to express my love of motion on that ebony ocean of applause.
I stand in the middle of that vast stage. My hair intricately braided with tinsel and slivery feathers. My ice blue dress floats around me as I stretch and breathe behind that crimson fall of fabric. Flecks of glitter on my arms glimmer and sparkle as they catch the glow of the stage lights in the wings. There are the muffled mummers and chatter, an ebb and flow of conversation, on the other side, waiting for the cue to quiet. I find my spot and sit, shivering in the air conditioned space. I close my eyes, eyelashes dusting my cheeks. A deep breath in, exhale—a flutter of butterflies tumble and twist in my stomach. The lights go dark as a hush fills the space. A distant rumble as the heavy curtain is raised to a dark stage. Inhale.
A soft serge of music as a single glow of light illuminates where I sit. I start to move. No longer am I this clumsy, awkward body, fighting gravity for balance and grace. The music has infused my body, transporting me to a different time and place. I twist and turn, stretching and folding I flow across the space. Alone, I spin a tale of wonder, and warmth, and Love. I pour out my joy, my strength, and delight in the freedom of motion. The music ebbs, releasing my mind and body, returning me to the time and place. My arms outstretched, reaching, eyes finally focusing on the here and now. Exhale.
The crash of applause startles me out of my reverie.
Dance will always be a part of my life, but as a final exit to performing, I could not have asked for a better way to experience my final dance.
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