Wednesday, 7 October 2009

so i think i can't dance anymore :(

ummm so this is slightly touching for my taste, but i got to dance tonight and i just needed to pay homage. i wrote this a bit ago for my writing class. sorry it's kind of long. and cheesy. but hey, proof i have a soul after all!

I wonder where this fits in to my life—or whether it does at all. Something that was once such a part of me now seems almost impossible to touch. Life is too cluttered with things that 'get me somewhere' to make room for something that makes me happy.
Once I overcome the insecurity and lame excuses, the 15-minute drive, the $10 fee, I'm here. Not sure I belong. Pretty sure everyone else agrees. The fact that I don't care makes them look at me differently though.
Sitting on the ground. Feeling its comforting pressure against me. Spreading every inch of my body onto its glorious surface, amazed again at how willing I am to let my hands, hair, face, everything relax in this filth. Years of stubborn calluses, dirty shoes and ‘traction spits’ have left their mark on this floor, massaged by hundreds of ambitious feet. In any other setting, this comes nowhere close to socially acceptable. But here, we understand. Here the ground is the zero from which we must build; the force our bodies work against.
The music begins and wordlessly we move. As the melody enters our ears it makes itself at home in our minds, leaving room for little else. With every movement, emotions that have struggled long to break free from their glass bottles within me are finally released into the air. I physically feel them go, making me freer with every second. Ironic that in this total absence of words my plaguing worries go free. Countless times I have tried to attach words to them, to construct out of words a rope by which they can escape. Words are supposedly my life—my eventual livelihood. Their insufficiency to perform in this moment mocks me.
It’s dim in here. All I see is my hair flowing around me, the outlines of bodies barely visible in my half closed eyes. We have no need in this moment for the security of 20/20 vision. When was this ever about security? All is feeling. The feeling of my muscles taut until the pain turns to heat. The feeling of an inexplicable connection uniting every part of me. Feelings so overwhelming I struggle to not acknowledge the tears. “You overdramatic little girl,” my mind says. Get over it. But the awe at how I could ever forget this reaction takes over. How could I forget how much I need this? No amount of growing up or getting somewhere can ever satiate this need.
I've tried to move on, thinking that leaving it behind will ease the pain of not being able to spend my life in it. But no matter where life tries to hide me, this nagging desire always catches up. Because it’s not something you do. It’s not something you play. It’s something you are. However embarrassingly my technique fades or my flexibility tightens, it's something I am and will always be. I will forever be a dancer.


david and kinsley harper said...

well i cant either! I SUCK.... i miss it so much i want to cry. dave makes fun of me because when ever i am watching so you think you can dance, i start crying. #1 they are amazing #2 i feel for them~ and #3 i miss it sooooo much!

david and kinsley harper said...

by the way what you just wrote made me cry to! haha what a baby i am!

Annie said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Annie said...

at least you can write. and as far as i'm concerned, the ability to completely let yourself go in a room with other people you don't really know is something pretty unique rebbster. i kept thinking, "i wish i could do that".

alison said...

this was wonderful rebbie. made me wish that i was a dancer.

The invisible one said...

I know what that feels like. Your words are beautiful. I really understand that to the fullest

Brienne said...

Rebs you are amazing! There isn't anything about you that I haven't wished for at some point. You are a beautiful dancer and a beautiful writer. I want to be you when I grow jokes.