I have had several dreams in recent days of dancing in the dark, once in the remote halls of a large corporation I have often worked for, and last night in a swirl of flowers, floating above the graves of the esteemed elders of a great university, in swirl of flowers.
It was not disrespect: it is life in the face of death. Dancing is coherence out of chaos, is it not? Rhythm from the possibility of randomness? Dancing is, perhaps, to emotions, what logic is to thinking.
I was once told by a Brazilian friend that I am a good dancer. He asked his housemate what she thought. She scowled a bit–she did not like me much for some reason–and said, “well, he has good RHYTHM”.
That’s enough I suppose. I continue to try and loosen the chains–much tighter them–which detract from my freedom.
I can’t justify it rationally, but I feel good things in the air. Our politics and culture is a shit show, and there is little cause for optimism. But even in the darkness, sometimes there is a way, and one’s feet find it.