Wayne Dyer said, “When you dance, your purpose is not to get to a certain place on the floor. It’s to enjoy each step along the way.
I’m dancing as fast as I can. The tempo may kill me. My feet lift and fall, lift and fall, heel, toe, do si do, step two three and twirl.
I’m dancing as fast as I can, don’t ask me to juggle. Now is not the time. Dip, sway, do the hustle, all fifty-seven steps. I can’t stop, the music still plays and plays and plays…like an organ grinder with a monkey I dance.
Perhaps I should seek coins from those watching.
I’m dancing as fast as I can, skirt belling and swirling and tangling between my legs. I stumble now and again, but I’m dancing as fast as I can.
No time for chores, for downtime, for respite, I am dancing as fast as I can, The cha cha, the foxtrot, a stately waltz all without a partner. Alone.
Nietzche said, “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.
I can hear the music. Can they? Am I insane?
I am supposed to enjoy the dance, revel in my body whirling, but I am exhausted and I just want to rest. Waiting for the windup organ to come to silent. For my windup key to wind down.
The music is no longer pleasant, it has become noise. The calliope at the fair behind the shouts of the carnies after my money. Everyone after my money. They do their dance, I do mine.
I dance Swan Lake and I dance Saturday Night Fever and I dance Charlie Brown. I dance a dirge. I dance with joy, with despair, with sorrow and with contentment. I cannot stop the dance.
None of us can stop the dance.
Leonard Cohen said, “Dance me to the end of love ‘til I’m safely gathered in.”
We dance until our feet bleed and still we dance. Red footsteps staining the stage, leaving memories for those who will follow with their dance. Their moves. Their turns and swirls, elaborate solo square dancers.
All of us dancing.
I am dancing as fast as I can. Either leave me alone or show me some new steps. I am weary of those I know. So weary.
I am insane.
Is there music? Am I making this up. Making it difficult?
Can I just stop? Collapse on stage in a giant heap like the black swan?
When does Donna Summer sing Last Dance?
My body aches and my head hurts and I need quiet to hear the still small voice of reason and peace.
Vivian Greene said, “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
I have danced in the sun, the rain, the snow, the sleet, the wind. I have danced in laughter and I have danced in tears.
When does the curtain drop? When do I get applause and a dozen roses.
I am dancing as fast as I can, slower and slower and slower.