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When words fail, I dance

I feel a powerful force that wants to be released. To be expressed. To come to life. And I want to know how. More importantly, I want to know what this “force” is. Because it drains me to the core that I am weakened by his imprisonment. Physically I am fine but my soul is crying out for a voice. Maybe I don’t allow myself to listen. I fear what it may reveal.

On the one hand, I want it to materialize so that I can hold it in my hand and release it like I would a butterfly caught in a web. On the other, my rational being asks me to look it in the face and demand answers. The questions I can’t quite define. Not in words. So I’m stuck. I want a dialogue but the words do not come.

It seems that I am at a standstill: my soul asks for release, my mind resists and so does my body: a state of confusion. I lie awake at night wondering if this force is coming from a place of depth or frivolity. I can not tell. However, I can tell you how this inability to articulate words makes me feel: frustrated, angry. Only. Like an infant who, unable to communicate an immediate need in speech, cries and screams to be understood. But I’m older now. So I cry inside and scream in silence.

It seems that even in the adult world, the language of words and their mastery often fail to capture the spirit of our meaning. We say “I love you” when the love is gone. We say “I hate you” when all we feel is love. The words betray. They are simply too limited. Deficient. Ambiguous. The force we feel, the depth of our emotions, is so powerful, vigorous, and complex that putting it into words only serves to weaken and confine.

I should know. In my profession, where words are the currency used to inspire, influence, and change people’s ways, the “message,” a cleverly woven string of words, doesn’t always stick. So it shouldn’t be so disappointing that in my private domain, words fail to give an exact meaning to my riddle.

Bitterly, I withdraw into my cocoon, hoping that a brief respite from the maddening pace of the world will focus my thoughts and give rise to a speech that releases the unspoken.

It is not like this. What I find, buried and forgotten, shut off by a heavy artillery of “adult” problems, is a distant memory of emotional exuberance and physical ecstasy that once ignited my passions and inspired self-expression. There are no words or speech that colors its energy and gives it life. It is pure meat. His language is the body. He only understands the rhythm. He doesn’t lie because he can’t. He only tells the truth. When the body takes over, the mind obeys and the soul delights. In the moment, I surrender to his power. Lose all inhibitions. Unleash what chains my being. In the language of dance I give voice to my soul. I put my thoughts to rest. I talk to my body. We make a beautiful conversation.

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