What is it to be sane in an insane world?
What is it to find balance in a civilization dangerously teetering on a brink?
What is it to cultivate a rhythmic harmony deep inside, even as a wider world around you
crashes, roars and shakes
in violence, turbulence and tumult?
What is it to keep coming back to ONE, collective beat?
To that unique sonata, a mesmerizing overture, and the steady lull of a pulsing crescendo?
To the stagnant repose of gestation and waiting, to the hearty symphony of a brilliant cacophany?
What is it to be insane in a sane world?
I DON'T KNOW.
Yet, what I do know, is that when I try to meet others in this moment now ~
when i attempt to let go of all that has come before and when I relinquish
my need to plan for what is to come ~ I fall further away from the madness.
From the delusional stories that fill my fictional time with "He said, she said's",
"could have done's, would have done's," and with the tension of holding on.
To a past that may or may not have ever happened and to a future that is yet to come.
I fall further away from the anger and the apathy that gripped my soul, for years rendering
me inert and unable to move, with spirit, mind and body all in motion.
I fall further away from any ideas of separation, distinction and other.
I fall further away from my conditioning and back into Sacred Time.
When I step onto a dance floor, when I leap into another's arms and when I discover solace in the intimate gaze of a stranger's eyes, I mark a return to the Great Well of Be-ing.
In pleasure and, sometimes, even in discomfort, I dip my cosmic handle into its murky, emerald pool. I drown my ravished tongue in its sweet, pure liquid. Like a fountain of youth, this underground spring has me taking on my myriad of selves.
I take on the fetus swimming in a warm pond of blood and bodily fluid. I take on the newborn violently exposed to light, air and touch. I take on the baby learning to walk. I take on the toddler learning to talk. I take on the child wanting to play. I take on the juvenile experiencing flesh wounds and the deep cuts of popular culture and social rejection.
I take on the insecure girl-woman who just wants to be loved. I take on the inner child who missed a deeply intimate relationship with her daddy. I take on the old, wise woman whose joints are fluid and who has palpable grace etched in her face. And I take on the mother from whose womb all life sprung forth. I, once again, take on the black void of death, destruction, creative force and birth.
I take on me, and I take on you.
I take back time and I give
I give and I give and I give and I give until my muscles can no longer extend, until my smile is replete, until my back is sore and my heart is strong. I give until my voice is but a distant echo in the remnants of your memory. I give until my spinning silhouette disappears. I give until my shadow has been brought back into the light. I give and I give and I give and I give. I give when I am being told "No" and "Stop," and I give when the signal is brightly blinking red. I give when the music ends and I give some more so as not to waste a drop. I give to feel and I give to learn. I give to experience all that you yearn. I give some more and I give no less. I give and I give and I give and I give. And when all the giving is done, when the tick tock of the steady clock has stopped, when there is nothing new under the sun and when the twinkling stars no longer shimmer or wave, when the giving and the taking are once again one, we'll dance.
