The Sun shining warm on soft skin
The movement of hand and limb through space
A soft breeze blowing
So aware of every breath
in the space
in the self
weights and barricades cast aside
Meditating on the moment
Rejoicing in every heartbeat
What a great day!
to be alive
All your legs and arms and form
wearing draping cloth
that moves in a wave around you.
I no longer no where you begin and end
Your motion is blurred in the dim lighting.
Furiously and fleetingly
you move to acoustic music that plays softly
in the background,
or am I just hearing things?
Am I hearing the beating of your heart
and crafting a rhythm to match?
I clap in time
You beckon, I dance
Flailing just like you
The clock is melting Dali-style
We are beyond time now.
Sense and reason have nothing on us.
Heart beating, soul pounding
I can feel our breaths
Then the music jerks to a halt
and we drop to the floor
beside each other,
inside each other
Melting into one mystical creature
Not phoenix or liger
but something outside of words,
not an it but a living thing.
Let us spread our wings
and stretch our talon-claws
When the house lights go up,
we will fly away.
My front windshield is cracked,
has been for several months now.
Every now and again,
I have the money to fix it,
but end up spending the cash
on something else.
Yes, yes, we only have so many resources
I feel this a metaphor for something:
The world’s problems are vast and consuming,
and we can spend all our days chasing
after all kinds of things,
that seem good and productive at the time;
or, we can spend time fixing the windshields
of our lives.
Ah, yes. I can see clearly now.
The crack is gone.
I went to an art exhibit with my friend, Brian.
The artist took pictures of large groups of people
from a helicopter.
Inevitably, patterns emerge,
just in the movement of people.
From afar, just as up close, we are works of art,
from concept to design to finished product,
heart, mind, and soul.
Do we have the eyes to see, the ears to hear
the will to believe so?
My wife and I were watching a documentary on a burlesque troupe the other day.
I loved, as the narrative unfolded, the reoccuring themes that began to appear.
They spoke of freedom, of expression, of overpowering the shame hurled upon us by the powers that be.
We all have a unique gift to share with the world. Though we are always tempted to conform, even in art, to express ourselves only in ways we think we ought to act, think, and behave.
But there is richness to be found in self-discovery, a heavenly wink found as we uncover who we really are (and who we are not).
We think if we give the audience what they want, they will be happy; but they will be happier still if we give them what is true.
IF we are alive and engaged, it frees the audience up to do the same.