The Dancer

The young mans dream was to dance. The liquid movement of the body mixed with the melodic sounds of music, to enact a feeling, or deeper, a meditation. After years of practice, arduous excercise, and self discipline he made his debut to the world. Spinning, dipping, making jumps, oh so high and graceful, landing back on earth at the exact time, the exact note and without hesitation flowing into the next movement. Free in the music, his mind wandering with thought of cool breeze and placid blue skies while the tempo was light.

Then building into a stormy mood with raging winds and black ominous and clouds racing across the sky as the tempo became stronger, wilder, almost swept away with the mere thought of such movement. So beautiful the feeling, not of accomplishment, but the connection, the interaction of being one with the music, and the control.

Control? Was this in control of him? Was he in control of his movements, or had he become so much a part of the music that his dancing had become second nature? Fear, deep set fear began to filter into his conciousness. He coild no longer control his movements. They became twisted and damaging to his spirit. The audience roared, applauded, and cheered with delight. Never had they seen such an enlightened display of dancing. To their feet..applauding.

Applauding? Applauding while he cried; cried tears of fear, of pain, and of dismay. He was no longer dancing, only his body was dancing and with each movement his spirit ached. The inner pain grew and tore at his heart which by now was pounding. Pounding, hurting, screaming with pain, dear God, surely they can see: Surely they can see my chest throbbing. The pain is so intense that I am blinded by it.

I am blind! I percieve not: How is it possible that I dance without sight? Surely I shall hit the wall or fall from the stage with the next movement. But still I dance, move with the music, if only I could stop dancing, if only my movement would stop. If only I could block out the music, cease to hear it....hear? Hear what?

I cannot hear! The audience, the orchestra, my heartbeat, nothing. My senses gone, almost void am I, but this forsaken body will not stop dancing. The body ceases only at death. Death would be worthy of cotemplation at this point, but rather I would allow my spirit to dissipate, to leave. Leaving this accursed, almost mechanized, body to function on the least amount of energy necesarry. For spirit without body would indeed be more complete than the body and the spirit together out of unison. The body needs control but the spirit needs peace, spiritual inner peace, and solitude. And only with this inner peace can the body be controlled completely and effectively. The dancing of the body is indeed beautiful, but without the unison of spirit the dancing becomes incomplete and less perfect, leaving the dancer outside himself. And unless the connection of the body and spirit is remade the dancer will indeed remain apart from himself, never to dance again. Not even unto death.