If I could dance with words...

If only I could dance with words the way they play the music…

"It is Flamenco Music" he says…
The music plays with quickness. Fingers move briskly, plucking the strings dramatically to the percussion playing so perfectly while trading the beat back and fourth. Guitar, drums, tambourine, bells, and some wooden object seem to flow together, no words, simply a synergy that cannot be spoken, only felt when heard. It is much like the dance we exchange, trading passion with the chasing of the footsteps of the other.

I envision our feet, rhythmically placing each step to the movement of the hands on those drums we hear. Our bodies are dictated by the beat of the man playing the music. My feet struggle to follow his, wondering what his next step will be and trying to do what I am least comfortable doing; following. He places his hand gently on the small of my back, where I see his loving tone and his kind eyes trying to guide me back toward him. Fear, the awkwardness of my body feeling so out of place in submission, grips me and my body stiffens trying to perfect the step and count the sequence. Suddenly I have tuned out the music and the sound of its beauty is muffled by the questions in my head of "how to do this right". I find peace in music because it helps me to escape the thought plain and discover the art of pure, unrestricted expression, yet I suddenly find myself more restricted in the arms of this man that towers me.

I lose the ability to fall, to sink into the music I love so much, to allow my body to flow with my soul exposed and I forget to let my feet find their own footing in the rhythm I adore. The steps evade me, the music fades and I am stiff, grasping at perfection, searching for the defined path of the un-definable, unable to communicate what I cannot understand and ask him to show me. Our emotions are not mechanical like our bodies; they flow like the sound that is streaming from the man behind the guitar, who made the music a dance when he became willing to share. I try to fall into his embrace but there seems to be a cushion of distance that stands between us, keeping me just close enough to go through the motions but not near enough to represent one movement.

Admiring the energy that is created in the band we dance to, to hear their souls speak as it flows from their instruments, as their passions unite in unison to create this song he calls Flamenco. I wonder how I lost the music to the show I was so taken by. I realize that I am in fear; fear of a dance that operated to a different pace than my own. The movement in my hip goes unnoticed and I cannot control our turns with my womanly power or beauty. I am at the mercy of his dance, a new step I am as unfamiliar with as a foreign country. My own song has stopped and I am lost in the fear of what he expects my rhythm to look like in this confusing land.

I search for the source, the power chord that plugs into the amplifier of my own soul and holds the key to removing the distance between us. I realize that every core of my being wishes I could express it in the music that we hear, but the only instrument I am blessed to play is with words. I realize that in keeping my questions bottled up I have unplugged my own music and over analyzed this new dance until I was left with my mind's chatter that masked the beautiful song I am missing. I wonder how long I will allow my uncoordinated feet to struggle at something that is out of my realm of understanding, before I ask for a dancing lesson.