| Three Hundred Sixty Somewhere |
| Somewhere, near the center of the stage - there is a place - Not too far forward or back, not in the depths of shadows, Not in the surface glare.... But just where the spotlight softens To a luminescent glow of perfection... And hovering there, Is a reflection - Where wings of air can trace patterns Across a flawless floor. It's resonance is texture, is timbre, is speaker to my feet, And my body becomes transformed Into fine tuned sinew, gaining strength and balance - Stretching through a multitude of shapes, Where one becomes the many, The dancer becomes the dance, The dance becomes a fountain of motion Flowing and breathing in beauty Through levels of pace in the tangeable face Of Space. Endlessly leaping, pushing , falling And shifting through the seasons of so many stages, Always driven to reach that summit of grace - the dancer has a place... My Place, somewhere near the center of the stage, Is where I keep turning, twirling, and returning, Drawn by the beat to express That sensual crescendo, that passionate echo - That caring, that meaning, that purpose, that feeling, That bright light prism Running across today... To reach out to share a story, To love and be loved and to dance in the Spirit and sparkle of something special... To leap, to roll, to bend, to slide, to breathe, to sweat, to move, To try to feel so enormously alive, Late dinners, Laughter, Excitement before the show... Stepping out through opening curtains, Then greeting all the glow... To create such a great sensation, To feel the sympathy of an audience Clapping and crying for more, To know the love and the greatness Of the last encore... To become intimate with the One That has left the desire within, The driving force of all great shows That have already been, Such contentment brings inspiration... Lofty gift - Ambrosian - Bestowed by the simple brush of a hand, A blushing muse that spills the spirit As she laughs down the mountains To the valleys of life....bringing Glimpse or dream, feather whisp, or sudden thought, Transparently dancing in a shape of new steps, Of dancers on a stage not yet... Imagination already sits in every flower, It works well in Ivory Towers, but... When I finally find my position, Somewhere near the center of this stage, There is a space, a very private place Of Who I Am - Where I can gaze up to the sky In all three hundred and sixty degrees... And face the point, and look straight at the Maker - And absolutely free, gain the courage to find the belief To make the next spontaneous step... And when I close my eyes - I will feel the wings and find my flight - Tracing patterns across Forever Within the Spirit of the Dance... Right here in your heart, you'll still see me... In dreams and visions of old. And I'll be there to meet you - when you finally find Somewhere, Near the center of your soul... For Mary, upon becoming eternal BMCR Summer 2005 |
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