(no subject)
Something I have always desired. An empty studio. Pachelbel. I was already warmed and stretched; class had only just ended, but I felt like we had barely reached the halfway mark. I glanced at the clock; it was possible to go back; get dressed, wait for the bus, come home and idle.
It wasn't even necessary to make a choice.
Amazing the things we forget sometimes. Not just in our own schedules and priorities but in our esteem, as well. Some things, i have not forgotten, but fought to keep a place for them in a neglectful world; others, I have let slip myself.
It has been a long time since I was afforded the opportunity to dance, guiding my own muscles, not fighting them as in class but letting the memory pull the movements as required. I have bellydanced, but that holds a different quality, an earthen one, instead of the dance that poises suspended from the air. This time, with the formal bearing, that of queens and martyrs, with extensions and pointed feet flickering over the ankles and arms, arms that audiences would pay to watch merely rise and fall. It has been even longer since I have seen myself dance, and this is what I forgot- that I am able to, that some things are overlooked; that when I do, it is with skill, and passion, and grace. There is no one to remind me of these things. I lost them myself. And so, letting arms arc and feet slide across the floor, the only thing that comes to mind- but wednesday, when did you forget how to dance?
There have been improvements these past five weeks, though I should have been doing more. Old skills remembered, things the other teachers neglected to mention; finally, I have someone of strength and skill who will coax both out of us as well. It is a valuable thing in a ballet class, when there are far more techniques to remember than one can keep ahold of all at once.
I am not sure what was learned, what was discovered of myself in the extra time. I did, however, remember; a definition long lost, something known but not held.
When others pressed to use the space I gathered my things. Again, time to idle, catch the bus, but again no decision. I walked home instead in a storm of snow, snow like clouds of faerie lights floating down. Listened to the world quiet as i approached the water- all except for the ducks, who were scared away at my singing. But it was soft & dark & pleasant beside the quiet murky woods and I did not regret the movement.
I feel like- not that I have reached a decision, because I am not sure there was ever really a decision to make. Perhaps more that I know what is within me; not what will come- the future becomes more uncertain with every passing week- but what I need to do, for myself. Whatever comes of the future, be it schools or states or degrees or apartments- the frustration comes and goes but now I am biding my time, and working. Something develops, what is still unclear, but I have no doubt in it.