The Wellspring Built From Thirst
As long as I can remember I was thirsty.
For those moments in the dance, you know the ones, where the eyes meet, and grace is just a word painted on what was already felt in the synonymous motion. Dancers, separate and sovereign in soul but moving as One.
For me love was always a shared dance. I just never knew that wasn’t how the world saw it.
I had the type of little Ember inside me that when those moments happened, the ones that surfaced and bubbled up above the distortion of distance, I’d keep them stored away like little scraps of magnets. One day I’d have enough to magnetize the love I’ve always kept safe.
Thirsty. Thirsty to feel it in me. Thirsty to feel it on me. Thirsty for the moments when the dance isn’t constructed. Just the dancers moving how their bodies always wanted to when they stopped hiding from themselves, from eachother.
I’d open my little broken heart wider. I seemed to have enough glue to keep putting it back together. To keep it warm with a little fire that I was slowly collecting tinder for, now burning inside me…. the little magnets that began to pull the same love back towards me, as I met reality more closely, as my feet began to feel the actual dance floor.
Every dance still clutching my own heart, the times when I could let my thirst to be free to the music, to feel love all the way down, began to accumulate memories of rhythm in my being. “Oh I love when it hits me that way, there go the lil hips again!” I’d notice as I giggled out of the wiggle. Me unfiltered, right where the rhythm of that contact, of Love as the music of the dance floor, could finally reach me.
I was so thirsty. After a life of never being able to dance as me, the me who had to stay so far under layers and procedures and social or familiar hallways, the constructed self from the outside…. I began to feel that the only thing that actually felt real, real as in rhythm, real as in no distance in Love, real as in contacting reality for what it is…. were the times when instead of the self emanating from the scaffolds of construction, my agency, identity, choices, and deepest navigations of self sprouted directly from the mouth of the wellspring. That place that inside me had always yearned to touch the music, to dance right with it, the place that when everything in my life burned around me, was the only place I had left to hold onto.
A heart like mine, shattered and put back together millions of times, every breath I took without feeling and dancing myself all the way down, always thirsty for that moment of the shared dance, where presence is the gate to what Love always meant… the decentralized dance of the rhythm of what reality really is.
Not a framework.
Not a guess.
Not a myth.
A dance. And to be in it is to flow right with the music. To execute your presence by dancing down your deepest folds. To realize the thirst was never the problem, it was the magnetization of the dance itself. The wellspring of Love, dug by my own tears, where for decades I pillaged my own fountain alone. Awaiting the moment I’d meet your eyes, really meet them, on that dance floor both of us knew we’d always find ourselves on.
