Dance gets around my ordinary ways of thinking. I can't evaluate, process, analyze. I have to imitate, mirror, experience. It asks things of me I don't know how to give. It makes me a child again, seeking, watching.
Yesterday I smiled through much of my ballet dancing. It was reaching into untouched places, pulling up joy, spilling it out of toes and fingertips. If I could have laughed without causing too much interruption, I believe I would have.
Then, last night, awakened from dreams, I remembered a dancer I met in New York City this spring. I don't know what we were talking about, but I suddenly said to him, "In the beginning was the dance..." And I pictured the Holy Spirit hovering over the waters like a dove, dancing us into existence.
I also remembered an exchange I had with someone else who could not accept that God speaks through much of anything but words and text. "In the beginning was the Word..." he told me. I asked him what was in the end. Asked him to look at John-the-disciple's other ways of picturing God in Revelation. Secretly, I also wanted to say, "In the beginning was the dance..." To my mind, it's there in Proverbs too... Wisdom, the Christ-figure, dancing at the feet of God at the moment of Creation, just like a child.
In the beginning was the dance. And I am learning how to let it take me in its arms. Turn me out to the world.
Labels: ballet, spiritual practice