The brief swish of a skirt.
The stomp of a sturdy shoe.
The flick of a wrist.
And the searing pain of a stiletto heel landing firmly on the instep of my foot.
These are the sensations of the dance.
When I dance, the world falls away. Dance, for me, is very much like one of those word problems we used to do in Math. You have to sift the numbers out of the story in order to get the right information so that you can solve the problem.
And when my feet and my body are moving to the rhythm of the music, my brain sifts. The issues of the day lose their contextual fluff and become clear. I see things simpler within the scheme of the dance.
I barely hear the music. It is about the people. The movement. The writhing, pulsating crowd.
These are strangers.
These are brothers.
On the uneven wooden floor, we are one.
All members of our ever-growing, ever-shrinking tribe, we pound out through our feet the rhythms of life.
With our hands and shoulders we parody our interpersonal relationships.
Although our levels of skill vary,
Although our styles are different,
We are all equal-
subject to the music,
trying our best to keep up with the rhythm
Now and then,
time slows down for a brief second
and I catch someone’s eye across the room
and smile,
before it is gone again.
We strangers, so alien to the world which we endeavor to navigate, find purpose and passion in the dance.
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My dearest friend and salsa buddy Deanne has also posted her awesome experience dancing. You can read it by clicking here.
