Scene: Suburban neighborhood, northeastern U.S., Christmastime 2012, dreary, wet, cold day.
Enter stage left, (i.e. from my driveway): Middle-aged woman dancer wearing ski jacket and ruby red Santa Hat.
She sets off on her usual route. The penetrating damp spurs her to move at a good clip. She quickly gets into her rhythm. As always, after only a few minutes, the act of walking in the fresh air casts its spell and eases her into a meditative state.
The ideas and inspiration start to flow. She suddenly has an idea for a delicious, comforting dinner for tonight and a solution to a family issue and a kernel for her new dance piece. They all just form and appear out of the initially unpromising mist.
This is what walking can do. Or any anything meditative. Although it makes sense that MOVEment can move you and your mind and soul, along with your body. Churn up the juju and help you, me, everyone spew INSPIRATION and CREATIVITY!
The idea for a movement phrase takes over. Listen! Listen. With the body, she reminds herself. She starts by barely hinting physically at the dance that’s manifesting. Seemingly out of nowhere, or everywhere. The dance is actually moving her.
Then she begins “marking” the movement, indicating it kinesthetically but not yet doing it fully. Suddenly, she remembers her promise to herself to get back to impromptu dancing in public places. Weaving art into her everyday life and the places she moves through. What happened to that dream? The magical memory of “flashmobsoloing” in public places across America seeps back and she smiles. Well, there’s nothing like the present, baby!
So, with Santa Hat swaying against the steely sky, she begins dancing her way back home. Big and splashy, right along a main street. She does it for the Universe and the drivers passing by and the people who have left this earth and everyone.
She paints her passion with sneakered feet on the damp asphalt. Ruby red, like her Hat that leaves a tiny but bright blur against the voluminous grey clouds. A wee offering of whimsy for a tired world. Whimsical prayer. Whimsical affirmation.
It feels so right, she decides: same for tomorrow. No, she does not have dementia (yet :)). She has joy. And she’s looking to share it.