The workshop participants gathered that weekend to learn more about expressing themselves through movement. The instructor had many activities for us to experience, but I remember only one. We were instructed to keep our eyes closed throughout the training, find the person closest to us, touch our fingertips together, and dance safely without losing the physical connection.
What stays with me are those first fingertips, so gentle and healing, that connect us. With eyes closed, we listen to the sounds of the river and begin to sway to a harmony initiated somewhere beyond the room and above the wind.
Then, the music takes hold and dances us to the edge of the experience. We step into the swift current and are swept into a deep and luminous pool where the power and intimacy of soul talk dominate.
My body sings bouquets and balloons. It jangles with the sound of porcelain bells and ripples through space like the tail of a kite. The half-remembered sounds of an ocean play out against the length of my spine, and my hips resound in an even-tempered pop, pop, pop at the edges of my skin. The room crackles with energy as I ride the sensations, savoring each in its own time, connecting with the world in a new and unexpected way.
As the music begins to slow, tiny tears escape and flow toward a smile. Then the last note of music inserts itself into our dance, driving a wedge that produces a stepping away, a falling apart, a letting go, and a release that snaps me back into me and you into you, and I see your face and your eyes as if for the first time.
Separateness must be underscored, I suppose, to validate the connection. Still, as if seeking to turn back time for just one minute more, I meet your glance. We nod ever so slightly, acknowledging a reality in which fingertip dances last but a moment, blooming quickly and leaving a scent that cannot be forgotten or reclaimed.
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