That moment when your body remembers a long ago art of movement despite years of disuse and is just as fluid and synchronized as when you first perfected dancing just so.
It's a saffron shaded five minutes of bliss.
Just like that, I remember how beautiful my body can be. How I can move, in a modest tribal outfit or nothing at all. I soak it in, relishing that when I am aware of this form I'm in for my lifetime, it's in admiration.
I don't have time for self-loathing.
When my left hip rolls out, my arm mimics it in a symmetrical arc, my hand structures in a perfect flourette, and I tell you this: the body is the greatest instrument you will ever own. To make beauty, to defend yourself, to type out thoughts as they beat against the side of your head to get out.
Even when it's broken, and damaged, and weakened, it is still the greatest. Appreciate it, since it's closer to you than any lover will be. After all, isn't part of what makes us so bonded to our children is that they came from our BODY, our wombs, and are therefore precious and irreplaceable.
When I'm standing under a clear sky and can hear the ocean, I can't wait for the day I'll be beyond it. As useful and lovely as it can be, my body is a barrier between me and the swirling stardust of the universe, and I do not fear the day when it's time to return to that original home.
My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key. Arcade Fire had it right. And also inspires me to dance.
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