The Dancer

I have always loved dance. When I hear music, I see colors and hearing a piece for the first time is exciting because of the endless possibilities of the art. Dancers are the same, only they are like the brushes; taking the place of notes. Dancers push pull glide flow move across music staining spaces like an everlasting canvas. In those moments of doing, I am not sure there is any space between the dance and God.

A few years ago, I wrote about a dancer in a red dress. I spoke of her light, her carelessness and though I didn’t say it then, in remembering, her freedom. I wanted to be like her: free and shining. I wanted to move without worry and Be full in each moment.  The other night my friends and I went to chase sunset on the beach and take pictures. As my dress blew around me I looked out at the pink and purple sky and felt so full and happy and blessed. Then I posed for this picture

image

I remember when Taxa took it he said “oh that’s a good one, girl!” I only half believed him until I saw it and immediately I thought, I’m her. I’m standing still but I still feel the movement in this photo. I see the light. I was whole. Am whole. I wondered when it happened for about a second before I stopped caring about the answer.

At this point in my life, I have my voice. I have faith and conviction. I know how to listen and how to ask for help. I feel as though this trip was a commencement, my turning page, and a new chapter is beginning. A chapter which I am not sure what happens but I hope contains travel, and indulgence, and friendship,  and love, and motherhood, and career, and most of all God.

For perhaps the first time in my life I feel like a grown woman. A role I fully own and accept, love breathe and dance in.

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