I dance through downward dog, pause in chaturanga, not perfecting the poses as I’ve practiced.

I flail around sloppily, lazily, foolishly, like a sticky slug.

Today, I don’t care.

F*ck, that feels so good to my soul.

The fan blows my hair slightly, just enough to feel a stray strand tickle my cheek.

I laugh.

I move.

I dance.

I peer downward to peak at my pink polka dotted socks, admiring their prettiness, then hastily rip those f*ckers off, revealing bare, sweaty feet.

I move.

I sweat.

I dance.

The day meanders on, as it always does.

I float on cherry red wheels to the supermarket, rushing, running, feeling the buzz of the florescent lights, buying entirely too much chocolate, if there is such a thing.

I move.

I melt.

I dance.

I pull out into the seemingly packed parking lot, weaving, swerving, swirling past pedestrians and pick-up trucks.

After this well-choreographed dance, I halt promptly at the red light.

I stop.

The stoplights look like they’re hanging by a thread as they elegantly sway to lusciously angry, violent winds.

I sway too, sticking my arm out the car window, bopping vaguely to the beat of some over-played radio song.

I move.

I dance.

As I drive home, windows wide f*cking open, I smell the beginnings of a rain storm brewing.

I love.

Perfection has no place here: it’s all but banned from the juicy pureness of this deliciously raw moment.

Like biting into a succuelent just-ripened peach,

I move.

I dance.

I bite into the moment so viscerally, with my whole body, my whole being.

Slurp-slurp-slurping the sweet juicy goodness with my tongue, smacking my lips with pure contentment.

No! I won’t let any drip-drip-drop escape from my mouth.

It tastes like a secret, sacred healing elixir that I’ve lusted after for lifetimes.

It’s so refreshing to not worry about my flaws, my stumbling, my struggling, my failures, my wounds.

It’s so refreshing to just relax into it all.

I move.

I dance.

Yes, I see my pain. I feel it.

There it is.

I don’t feel so concerned about it.

I move.

I dance.

Just to witness myself from this more remote, yet strangely familiar location.

This is where magic happens.

I rub the sticks of my soul together to ignite sparks of creativity.

Passion.

Compassion.

Ferocious self-love.

I move.

I dance.

Everything I need is right here, right now.

No! Don’t f*cking look away.

“Stay right here,” I say to myself so gently yet so fiercely.

I move.

I dance.

This strange quality of gentle strength sprinkles into all the corners of my body, my brain, my being.

Peaceful warrior.

That is want I want to be.

Peaceful warrior.

That is what I have to be.

Part fierce huntress,

Part fragile flower.

Each one relying on the other.

The gentle one nurturing and supporting,

The fierce one boldly pushing forward.

Working together in perfect harmony,

an amazing inner waltz.

I move.

I dance.

And, that’s all I ever need to do.

Life keeps moving,

Let’s start dancing.

We move.

We dance,

And, that’s all we ever need to do.

 

 

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Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: Christopher Woo at Flickr