To Float - a poem

                                             Movement.    Breath.  

  

 Engaging the self in the world of the flesh. Ethereal by nature yet earthy in articulation, a striking compromise. 

Precious, precarious, delicate, fluid, or perhaps clumsy, oafish, rigged and jittery. Movement. Movement left in peace will remain there – waiting, losing itself in the stillness and sloth of endless days. Yearning to be coaxed free. If left alone for too long it may be fearful to re-enter the world; fearful but not abandoned to the depths. Movement has a way of inspiring strength within itself and its bearer.  Encouragement, motivation, stimulation, inspiration, sometimes it just dawns –  arriving unexpectedly and dispersing though my essence, in a breath, like a spark to gasoline. ...

... I am ignited.

Slowly, the life behind my eyes shines, my fingers join in, followed closely by my wrists, elbows, ankles, hips. Now faster, the movement takes hold. Firecrackers are aroused at every joint as I begin marking the steps and stages. I am grounded yet my stability is mildly disoriented. Smiling.  My toes rejoice, and scream. I’m surprised. Where has this come from? From a distant melody which lingers in my mind. My legs beg for this engagement, to be utilized, to be spent and ache, regretting their solitary hibernation. It has been far too much time.

Cherished. Misunderstood. Balanced, inner and outer self merging, feeling, touch, weight, a fleeting brush with the heavens and the inevitable call of gravity which can only be defied for but an instant. Try harder, push further. I begin again. My brow is moist, my chest rises and collapses as a branch beaten by the gale. Worn-out, hot life is pushed through my veins. Again. The music continues to play, dancing with me in my thoughts and imagination. As the keys sing I soar, floating, stretching to the furthest reach of my sole.

Arabesque

Movement is a glorious thing. It tunes the self, sharpens the mind, engages the spirit and the flesh. A tactful manifestation of gratitude to its Creator for having been given sentient expression. A spiritual purity absorbed in the earthly mess of emotions, pain, passion, even tears – those telling salient fountains of misery or ecstasy. Participation in the present. Like a rainbow sheened bubble suspended on the brink of time, movement lives in a flicker, a glistening, birthed in the moment, lasting seconds, like this bubble which lives briefly on the breeze until the glassy orb bursts.

Release

 Stillness.
I lie back, inhaling and exhaling with pleasurable force. Exhausted and sweaty, salt burning my eyes, my body tingling, my chest burning, my mind at rest. Ethereal by nature and earthy in articulation, heaving me into a hyper alertness yet I am offset by nothing. A striking compromise. The stillness brings peace and rejuvenation, the moment was. Calm. Breath. The seed of anticipation. This is why I dance, for the sake of living in movement.