My body is speaking to me again. A couple of days ago, I took a dance class after about two months of dancing only in my bedroom for brief, yet energetic spurts of a minute or so. This hour-and-a-half long release of energy was an experience beyond words. I will never know if the average person can really understand when I say this, but there is truly no greater feeling in the world to me than my body moving when my ears hear music. I don't know whether it is a passion for music, movement, or both. I don't know if it is simply the utter silence of the mind as something wiser within me tries to navigate my body in space. I like to hope that everyone in the world has something that makes them feel so ecstatic.
I left the class, ran towards the bus stop because I was late to meet a friend for dinner, and my eyes felt wider than they had ever been. Air rushed past me, but through me as well. As I waited for the bus, I couldn't help but pace, back and forth, back and forth, my body clearly not wanting to stop moving after the glorious experience it had just had.
"Thank you!" it kept saying to me. How can such a feeling ever be doubted? How could I have ever questioned the most vital aspect of my being? My only explanation thus far is that my mental muscle has always been stronger than my entire body's worth of muscle combined. Otherwise, I would never have succeeded at fooling myself for so long. And as I paced back and forth, I couldn't keep the tears from cascading down my reddened cheeks. I cried and I cried, and I pitied myself, and then I cried for the joy within me, and I cried for the truth being revealed, and I cried for my body.
And today, as I went to work at my inconsequential, meaningless place of work, the apron around my neck seemed more menacing than ever before. After being nourished and tended to at my dance class, here was my body again, back in prison. Constrained by a dark brown piece of fabric that not only seems to invite stress and tension right into my muscles, but represents the time spent not doing what I should be doing. At my place of work, I am a pawn of the system, and my body is angry for it. And so my shoulders rise and furrow together like two big, hairy eyebrows on one furious face. My spine freezes and the glorious sensation of freedom and ecstasy is sucked away, as long as I insist on wasting my time producing funds for my survival.