Dance as worship

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It is worship. The person doing it does not even have to ask. Let's say a dancing master's instruction says to connect with movement space A and space B. It can always be done without grace. But then there is a way with every movement that fills it from within and turns it into how and not what. The movement is not merely done but done with a line that makes it beautiful and whole. You can feel that that movement has come from the world that God created perfect, "very good".

No words adhere to that movement. It is itself.

Of that movement you do not have to ask why does it exist? why was it made?

It completes its own why by being made.

An entire day can seem justified if you have made such a movement once. Making it is a privilege and a thrill. One two three, one two three.

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However, every such movement also has a fluttering dark underside, like a ribbon.

The question always has to be faced: is movement like speaking in tongues? Is it, even though connected to God, not very edifying to the world? What work does it really do for the person watching it? Is it sterile? Is it, God forbid, "art"?

(Keep your head up, dear. Tighten those abs.)

Even if it is worship, is it a worship that is needed by anyone? Is it more like some musician showing off?

When a dancer has such a thought, her movement breaks and falters. It loses its involute quality, it hesitates and speaks.

(One two three, keep counting, love. At least you have that.)

"E cosa seria il ballo," dancing is serious business. The statement of a complete fool. Dancing isn't serious at all.

Nobody is farther from worship than the rich pagan who gets disturbed during her lovely yoga class because some child has run by and turned her divine serenity into a chicken salad. How could anything be worship that can't accommodate a child??? Or a noise? Or randomness? Or ugliness?

If it shuts out the world it simply can't be worship. The heavy lady lumbering to the altar for eucharist, she is a thousand times better dancer than you. She breaks the heavenly line and God rushes in, utterly happy to cushion the springs of her mountain. Always the low he likes to make high. So the crippled are better dancers than I. One two three, oh well. Start again. Incorporate your fall in your spiritual growth. You will do it again, be ready.

Elf the dance teacher floats through the training room. Generally she makes one mistake after another. The mistakes are the beautiful part.

Even if you don't make them, the mistakes are all still there. They are in the room hovering over you even though you don't make them. When you do make them it's just that they become visible.

So what is beautiful here is by no means made by you. It's yours as a gift. But only if you keep counting!

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