How We Are Thirsty

(Mystic Sister, Otherworld, 2010)

Often while dancing I lose control, a certain control that I hold on to most of the time, it helps me coordinate throughout my day, and is the central system that operates my basic motor moment. All of this is thrown out, I forget how to walk or run or jug all together, I just let my foot loose. Over the years this form of losing control on the dance floor has developed and been refined, gaining deeper response to my emotional state as well as the groove in both my heart and mind, as well as the air. Certain air is no good for dancing, to spite how good the dancer is, and factors of the air depend on the music and the people occupying the dance floor. Of course even those factors can be thrown out the door as well when it comes to the presence of the right dance partner. This essentially is the strongest influence to my dance routine, and the wildness that happens with both my legs and arms are thrown into a fury of projectile movement. As my legs and arms move in a furious matter the precaution of outsiders gains my partner and I ground space to fully commence in dance. Somewhere in the universe an invisible beam of energy, a ban of light that is neither infrared, x-ray, or gamma, and effects only dance moves and is caused by the allining of certain planets, and once this event happens it reaches into the souls of whoever is dancing and takes the lack of control into a whole different level, this is the birthing of a dance off. If the surrounding crowd wasn't far enough already from the two engaged dancers they are now miles away, hiding in their shelters, some are curious and look on, some try to carry on in their weak excuse for dancing, ocassionally looking over to what is transpiring as they whisper regrets into each other's ear, shame.

I swear I let it all out, any bit of angry, happiness, sadness, it is all there, on the dance floor, it is in how my leg appears to be made of jelly and yet it is strong enough to support a raging tornado. I kick, my leg jets fast then slow, then pause, swirl around as my other leg follows, I do a spin as my hands act like guilds to help an approaching airplane into terminal, I rock it some more, I feel my body form a layer of sweat throughout, and through the collar of my dress shirt I feel venting steam jet. A few lost moments pass, and I grab my partner's hands in mine, our legs never touch, they come close but never meet, just reflecting each other's feelings. I am gauging her movements she is gauging mine, we smile, look into each other's eyes, we are looking directly into each other's pupils but they aren't looking back, they are lost, voodoo trance like, sweat covers our faces, we have a fever, jungle fever, and our bodies are a disco inferno. My heart is pounding, my thoughts are lost to how to describe the rest, of how to give detail to the fury of the eye of the storm. With each beat I die a little, with each swing, sudden pull of the right arm bringing my partner towards me, away from me, around me, and dipping her as I look down, beads of sweat kiss flesh of her chest, they form vapor which enter my nose and intoxicate me. I black out from here, when I return to it I'm still moving, looking at her, she is wild, crazy, beautiful, I'm not sure if I can handle it and yet I am still here, still in one piece. I am surpassed, my glory as a dancer is now to the glory of her name, I call out to her like a cowboy calling to a wild stallion, what is her name I ponder, something that cannot be tamed nor captured, something that is beyond me, or understanding, majestic upon majestic, a mystery to all. When the song ends the dance ends, the world returns, it is no longer us as we realize we just scared off half of the club, the bouncers are dogging us, but they can't touch us, for that moment and that moment alone we are invincible. My hands have never let go, we are still engaged, out of breath, hair all stringy and wet like we were running in the rain, purple rain. We shared something that no one else will ever again share in the history of the world, it happened just tonight, and will remain in our hearts forever. The mirrorball is shattered, the light is dizzy and bent, our feet throb, and our mouths are thirsty. We are thirsty. I ask her for a name, she replies, Sandy. Sandy Beaches. This is how we met. And so it begins.