There is something about the music being loud. There is something about the darkness. There is something about stomping my bare feet against the thin carpet on top of solid concrete. Feeling like the ground can hold me and then some. It can meet me where I’m at no matter how hard I stomp.
There is something about moving my body in time to music. I have decent rhythm. Without too much thought I can move my legs, my limbs, my hips in time to different kinds of beats. I could be a decent drummer. I feel like it’s in my blood. In a way I understand music more than I understand anything else in this world. I understand music and melody and beat more than I understand my feelings. My feelings which are always changing and always fleeting and something that I often do not trust. I trust this. I trust that the beat will always carry me and this ground will always meet me and while I cannot walk a mile without pain I can dance for an entire hour and forget I have a body. It’s all beams of light and sweat and sometimes I cry because I feel whole and I never ever feel whole. I never feel free.
So this is what it’s like. Freedom. I wonder what I’m doing with my life that this freedom accounts for only a small fraction of my life. Days go by without it. I forget about it. It becomes a distant dream that I’m not sure is real or not. And then I hear a song. That song. The perfect song at the perfect moment and I remember and it makes me cry.
Because I miss it. I want more of it. It gives me space.