dance

You approach a gate. Maybe you believe you should be “more” somehow, “better” somehow. Everywhere you turn you come up against obstacles and you feel doubts. But I am opening my arms to you and offering you a bundle. It’s free. You can call it a medicine bundle. Here it is, it is yours for the keeping and all you have to do is to say YES . YES to being alive. YES to being you, ONLY YOU, no one else! You’re not allowed to be anyone else. YES to noticing the real world that is around you, not the imposed one, but the one that cracks morning open with slanting rays of light. The world that brings the crocus peeping its purple out of the snow drifts every spring. You have nothing to prove. You have earned the privilege of LIFE for here you are.
Dance! In your head, in your shower, in the theatre, on the road, in the studio. Move to the rhythm of the swaying quaking Aspen leaves. Turn to the song of renewal heard by the roadside where a wildflower has valiantly pushed up between cracks of broken concrete. Are you too tired, too worn? Then sit on a rock, breathe into your belly, turn your wrist and watch your hand. Feel the rock. You and stone and grace all easily merge. your wrist….rock stories….all one.
You don’t need to to know anything. You don’t need to remember or to think.
You don’t need to bring anything back with you.

Maybe

Maybe
In the beginning someone began to clap, “palmas”, a heartbeat.
Next came cante, song, a primordial wail, a lament on the human condition.
Head tilted back, eyes closed and from the depths of a human soul arose the sound of voice mixed with earth,
dusty tones of anguish.
And then the guitar.
Held in an embrace, strings like an angel’s harp began to accompany the poem being sung.
The music of the guitar wrapped itself around the singer as the guitarist wrapped himself around the guitar.
And then the dancer came.
Standing on the dirt, under the stars, enveloped by the sounds of ancient sorrows,the dancer began to move in response to the whole and Duende entered.
Maybe.