No one dances alone
Dancing is a wierd thing. Life is wierder.
Friends make both better.
Individuals dance, but dances need more. It takes a lot of work for me to feel normal, to be so; it takes a village to keep me sane, i sometimes feel. And the village does exist. It does in the way folks check in at random points in the day; a subtle lean-in, a hand on the shoulder "are you alright?" It's arms across your shoulders, a voice at your ear "you doing ok?" It's stopping you on the street, hugging you, and reminding you "don't worry so much, you are ok."
You can find that while dancing. I've read my Holleran, and in it, they describe the feeling of losing yourself in the dancing. Of riding the non-natural highs and lows of a bass beat as a way of escaping what waits for you on the other side of the railing. I learned that the closer to the center of the dance floor I get, the less I think. And so in the center I went, and I didn't think. I closed my eyes and moved.
And others touched me in that crowd. More like lifted me up. It was overwhelming and I had to step away.
I found myself crawling back to my camera, and stopping. This is disengagement. This is grabbing the camera and stepping outside the moment to observe on it. It is who I am, in some ways. It is a part of how i experience the world, but this is not all of who I want to be. I took the photos, and then i put the camera away for a while. Went back to dancing, to feeling and experiencing whatever it is that was happening.
Of course, I danced with my memories. The last time I was on a dance floor, there was a a face in the crowd, lit my flashbulbs popping, gleeful and esctatic. Happy for him and me, and yes, that Black Eyed Peas track came in, and it hurt. But then, someone touched me, ask me how I was doing, if I was doing ok. And so I danced past that bass line onto the next one. Hugging it close to me felt warm, but it burns. I have had this continuing image of my head, of being the Human Torch, and on occasion, burning as brightly as I can. Imagine if your cells were immune to fire, but only your cells. Anything else, in that blaze, would just burn away. Stuff burns to ash, and if the fire is hot enough, if the ash dissapears.
Life doesn't work like that; the problems are still there even after the dance. But with a little help, you make the turn.
Friends make both better.
Individuals dance, but dances need more. It takes a lot of work for me to feel normal, to be so; it takes a village to keep me sane, i sometimes feel. And the village does exist. It does in the way folks check in at random points in the day; a subtle lean-in, a hand on the shoulder "are you alright?" It's arms across your shoulders, a voice at your ear "you doing ok?" It's stopping you on the street, hugging you, and reminding you "don't worry so much, you are ok."
You can find that while dancing. I've read my Holleran, and in it, they describe the feeling of losing yourself in the dancing. Of riding the non-natural highs and lows of a bass beat as a way of escaping what waits for you on the other side of the railing. I learned that the closer to the center of the dance floor I get, the less I think. And so in the center I went, and I didn't think. I closed my eyes and moved.
And others touched me in that crowd. More like lifted me up. It was overwhelming and I had to step away.
I found myself crawling back to my camera, and stopping. This is disengagement. This is grabbing the camera and stepping outside the moment to observe on it. It is who I am, in some ways. It is a part of how i experience the world, but this is not all of who I want to be. I took the photos, and then i put the camera away for a while. Went back to dancing, to feeling and experiencing whatever it is that was happening.
Of course, I danced with my memories. The last time I was on a dance floor, there was a a face in the crowd, lit my flashbulbs popping, gleeful and esctatic. Happy for him and me, and yes, that Black Eyed Peas track came in, and it hurt. But then, someone touched me, ask me how I was doing, if I was doing ok. And so I danced past that bass line onto the next one. Hugging it close to me felt warm, but it burns. I have had this continuing image of my head, of being the Human Torch, and on occasion, burning as brightly as I can. Imagine if your cells were immune to fire, but only your cells. Anything else, in that blaze, would just burn away. Stuff burns to ash, and if the fire is hot enough, if the ash dissapears.
Life doesn't work like that; the problems are still there even after the dance. But with a little help, you make the turn.