Birth of an artist

I had a dream that I was a dancer. When I wanted to express myself, when I wanted to be heard, I found an empty space and danced my heart song. Music evoked movement, more than that it made my emotions bubble to the surface of my skin and rather than spill through my fingertips it coursed through my entire body.  My legs were strong and steady, moving me through pros and cons. My arms sifted through confusion and began to sweep over judgments. Eyes closed and facing inward, my head followed my body never trying to make sense or plot the course but keeping me safe once I was there. No words were spoken but all was said with a dance.


What would it be like not to speak or write? To give in to this deep want to be silent but not unheard? The way I see dance, that surrender and that abandon and really that freedom, is the way that I write. It is the same process, I even close my eyes and face inward. But I cannot seem to leave the ground. Wait…there are a few posts that felt like flying. My letter to Oprah, my second petition to the universe, broken; those were leaps.

So, maybe in my dream I was seeing myself not as I could be but as I am. There is still a part of me that longs for the movement, the beautiful art of dance itself. But I need not think of it as a thing to be obtained, rather a thing I have and wish to utilize. It may serve me well to consider all things in this way.

When I woke up I thought to myself, I felt beautiful…I want to fly. Every now and again I get to, I feel the weightlessness of being carried. Its a moment of purity and of grace. Live from there, I just thought. Live from there and when you wish to feel it more absolutely, return. As you do to love, as you do to any home.

I just had a thought, rather matter-of-factly I heard my Self say, “you transcend the word writer.” That process that I described…not every writer writes in this way, this is something else. And quite honestly, I can say the same words through paint. Or piano…or photography…but I made words mine. I claimed them. Truthfully, I am an artist. I can make art anywhere via any medium. There is this quote, where the spirit does not work in the hand, there is no art. I have long since loved that quote but today I got it. I heard it. I knew it as if the words were my own. And perhaps one day I will transcend “artist”, so long as I am moving…I do not mind.


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