Dance

On Friday night, the curtains went up and I was sat in the Colliseum Theatre watching Swan Lake. It was my first time watching the ballet but it felt more like a really hazy distant memory. Like a sap, I welled up within in the first few seconds of it starting. The music, the set, the tutus, the sequences and more than anything, the Snow Queen blew me away.

It got me thinking about my own dancing hang-ups. I've always loved dancing, I wanted to go to classes when I was little but never had the opportunity. Instead, I would make up my own choreography in my bedroom and dance everyday to my favourite songs. As I got older, I danced less often and well, life got in the way. I stopped excercising altogether until I took up yoga later on, the only other thing that resonated. My body wants to be flexible, graceful and strong in the legs but that all got hindered when I got these nerve problems in my feet, rendering me unable to even walk barefoot around the house.

For 6 years, they've stopped me from doing what I want to and to avoid stepping on painful flooring, I've forgotten what it's like to feel all that energy in my legs and strength in my movements. After a healing session over a week ago, I was told that it is possible for the nerves to regenerate and with some dedication, my feet can be healed. And so my reaction was to scout for an adult beginners ballet class. I've found just the perfect thing, I've found the perfect shoes and soon I'll take my inner child to a dance class and heal my adult self. My legs seem to know it's coming, they're wanting to stretch and bend more in anticipation.

About 3 years ago, I wrote a poem about a dream I had, and it feels more close to me now than it did at the time:

Past Life

I twirled and twirled on my toes

in another time, on another plane.

That floor was mine upon which

I could prance and swish, no longer a wish.

I wore ballerina shoes, soft pink

and spectators were there I think, watching me

I could bend and hop, my body was free to feel

each move, such grace.

Not sure which country or place but I was there

and it was me and I was dancing, spinning like so.

A ballerina I was, a long time ago.

Time For a Little Poem...

It's been a while since I've written a poem here and this morning this one fell out of my mouth, my head and my heart and I quickly laid it down on paper before the words had a chance to shatter on the floor and I'd have to sweep them away.

So forgive me, it hasn't been edited...this is purely spontaneous.

Indonesia

Dusted it off and blew on it twice

A wish escaped along with the breath

And travelled over battered walls

And banyan trees

Exhaust smoke and children’s pleas

To skip the begging and play

It avoids the Sun’s fury all day

Dances past judgment and

Still on the breeze

Through cracks in the temples

Tried to get down on my knees

But couldn’t feel the buzz only the numb

Really straining to hear that hum

Those whispers that shake the leaves

One taps me on the head and I feel chosen

Nature’s gentle nudge

But that wish gets snagged and doesn’t budge

For a while until it’s forced

To take another course where spiders creep

Between flowers winged creatures peep

Both kindred and enemy they feast on the skin

Bang at the door

Can’t take refuge curled up on the floor

They will get you there too until the noise stops

And I’ve got my eyes on that moonlight

Its brilliant glow

The way it kisses the ocean the way it hangs low

Somewhere in that forgotten and unknown

It’s casting light on a king made of stone

A kris in his hand and menace on his face

Giving the impression that gold means grace

He sits higher than me and I’m meant to feel his power

I’ve never counted so much in my life

Hour by hour

Sunrise to sunset I've left little hearts in the places we met

For all of you by the sea and under the stars

Music and love faded the scars

That wish is still on its way up to Father Sky

Still battling exhaust smoke and avoiding those pleas

Indonesia you’ve helped me see

Helped me see

Twisted Air

Feeling like the raven hours of the night

The air twists around her

It spirals towards a familiar

But confuses them both

What she receives is distorted

A thousand snakes over sound

Vibrate and shake her for a feeling

Pulsate until she reacts

She wants to exist in several worlds

But none can contain her anymore

So she stays, writhing

With the snakes, the sound and the twisted air

Feeling like the raven hours of the night

Until she knows what she is

To him, to her and to you

(image from we ♥ it)

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A lot of thinking to do...

Just when I thought time had moved on
and growth had fastened links nicely onto the chain,
I am forced to turn around and address myself,
with issues of old, that today feel like new...
I must learn to intergrate and alter again.

More observation from others to acrue
and weave into the tired processes of my mind.
Infancy, you seem to choke me more as I age;
falling apart infront of analytical eyes.
So much of you still hiding behind
the curtains of the stage.