A river so deep
Since I’ve been back from Molokai, I’ve been out of sorts.
Molokai is a powerful place. The land there speaks to the soul in a language my mind neither hears nor understands. My soul did, and does, and it’s insisting on changing the status quo.
I discovered an affinity for the land. Yes, I totally had it before…a longing for the land of Hawaii. Now, I know there is a deep river that runs between my soul and that land. A river so deep that the conversation continues even when my body is back home, so many miles away.
So all I can do is dance to the new rhythm pouring forth. I know how to let go into the dance, to trust the dance. For this,Â I am grateful.
When I first started dancing ten years ago, I had to force myself to stay. I would go, wanting to be there, but when I got there, another voice inside would want to leave right away. I was embarrassed to move, embarrassed to trust my own body’s way of expression.
It took months for me to soften to my own expression enough so that this internal battle began to die down. It took years to begin to feel such deep joy that now feel. It took time and trust. Trust in the dance. Trust in my body. Trust in the soul’s call to the dance floor.
Now, I know how to let go into the dance. For this, I will always be grateful.
I now see there is no difference between the dance floor and the earth’s floor. To live as I dance is now what I hunger for.
Who cares what others think? Do we really care? Deep down inside, do we really care what others think? That fear swims on the surface, but way deep inside where the soul clamors to be free, do we really care? Will that fear of judgment keep us from experiencing the pure joy of movement, of expression, of gratitude for the gift of being alive?
The soul guides us to rise up and embody our own beauty and nobility.
It pushes and prods. It calls and yearns, and somehow, somewhere, and in some way we begin to listen.
How is your soul guiding you to move? To listen? To touch? To love? To express?
Somewhere within, you feel the call. So dance. Just dance. With music. Without music. It makes no difference.
Dance when you’re broken open.
Dance when you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance when you’re perfectly free.
Struck, the dancer hears a tambourine inside her,
like a wave that crests into foam at the very top,
Maybe you don’t hear that tambourine,
or the tree leaves clapping time.
Close the ears on your head,
that listen mostly to lies and cynical jokes.
There are other things to see, and hear.
A brilliant city inside your soul!
Thank you to Charlie Korda for sharing this video and poem.