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Monday, November 2, 2009

Still Dancing




Photos used, courtesy of Carabella Babii

A while ago I posted a blog piece about my sculpture Fire Dance. Funny how you can forget your own words. I reread that post and reminded myself of some things I learned. Dancing in flames is always a risk. I know this and dance anyway. I dance for myself. I dance to dispel fear. I dance to embrace life. I dance in blind faith. Faith, that love is real and is the only thing worth the dance. When happily ever after is just dust in the crease of the book binding, faith makes me turn the page and keep dancing. Am I an idiot to think that the dance itself is worth the risk of crash and burn? Maybe...(laughs) but I'm an optimist. I always turn the page. Ultimately, I do this for me. I have let fear rule me in the past. I will never do so again. Am I still scared? Of course I am. Sometimes I'm so scared I freeze. Then I remember that I am more than my failures, more than my mistakes and more than my fears. I guess it comes down to this: Live or let fear swallow me in an endless loop of doubt and regret. So...I dance. I play my music, dance and celebrate being alive. If I crash and burn, I think of the phoenix and I remember I will get up and dance again and again and again.....


I close my eyes
And see yours
I can reach out
Touch your cheek
In a moment
We never shared
But always had.

1 comment:

  1. Gwen, I wrote a poem for Fuz that goes with this post of yours.

    Berries out of season

    There then was nature’s miracle,
    Ah! Sweet berries out of season
    Springtime’s blessing bestowed
    upon the cusp of winter

    And we two travellers,
    by fate, fortune or stupidity,
    upon a path few travelled.
    Ill-favored as it was and
    treacherous with rock slides,
    nettles and the gnarled roots of pines.

    Yet we two fools alone were there
    to reap the bounty of such rare sweetness,
    borne among the nettles of canes
    bent by both early frost and weight of fruit

    Laughing we gathered berries
    without a care to bloodied fingers
    and fed them to each other.
    Lips stained by berries and our own blood,
    stark stains of life upon two lined faces,
    Summers’ tans long had faded
    But there we were alive and happy in that moment
    savouring each sweet drop afforded us

    Me Feb 2010

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