Monday, March 26, 2012
The truth is, I could write an exposé on my life right now, and your jaw would probably drop open, hung like an exhausted dog on a hot summer day.
Escapades o' plenty.
Everyone around me is experiencing wild transformation and we're like a tribe of wanderers seeking comfort on a cloudy day. Bags, packed. Relationships, severed. Bodies, pleasured. Jobs, quit. Jobs, scored. Mystery, abound. Movement, happening.
I've got this new line that I live by. It's in response to the Emma Goldman quote, "If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution." Because while you know how much I love to dance, what you might not know is how much I love surrender and face-slapping truth.
There will be mystery at the revolution. That's all I know now.
There will be darkness and We Will Not Know Where We Are Going. That's what happens when you turn the ship against the tide, with no real map or compass for the land you're headed to.
All you get is your body and a choice: Will you journey in the dark, getting bumped up and bruised, as you seek the door knob to the next light room? Or will you sit frantically wishing that you could see--that you could make sense of the dark in your mind without ever wandering through?
Some of us seek a life with the lights on, always--not trusting that if we reach out our hands we will find our way in the unknown. But for the darkness walkers, the shadow trekkers, perhaps nothing matters more than friends... people to journey with, to help you know you're not so alone or insane or absolutely ludicrous for thinking you could turn that ship around all by yourself with little fuel and no direction... people to tell you that if you just keep meandering your way, the light will come, you will be unstuck, you will not regret your journey.
Alone, in the dark corners and caverns of adventure, there is paralysis, there is doubt, there is absolute hatred for how reckless you must have been to land in this pitch black terror. But if you keep going, there are breaths, tiny steps, and soft hands extended, asking Will you travel with me? Will you hold me when I get scared? Will you remind me that trying to see the light won't make it so--that the only way out of the dark is through old fashioned feeling, hands-out exploration, a mysterious navigation with no map but your own?
What is it about touching your two hands to the walls, following something strong and firm until you finally find a soft opening?
A mind's journey will only take you so far. Your body knows how to move courageously, how to dance and dance in the dark.