You can say in her own way, and in that moment, that she too was a dancer to God. We seldom try for that beautiful greatness brooding in the mystery of our blood. She destroyed us because rarely do we love our tasks and our lives enough to die and thus be reborn into the divine gift of our hidden genius. She destroyed us because we knew in our hearts that rarely do we rise to the higher challenges in our lives, or our work, or our humanity. She was the sea we never ran away to, the spirit of wordless self-overcoming we never quite embrace. While she danced she became the dream of the freest and most creative people we had always wanted to be, in whatever it is we do. Why do I dwell on this dancer? I dwell on her because she represents for me the courage to go beyond ourselves. The fact is that she has destroyed us all. In the silence that follows, no one moves. I can see her now as she stands shining in celebration of her own death. Soon, she becomes a wild unknown force, glowing in her death, dancing from her wound, dying in her dance.Īnd when she stops – strangely gigantic in her new fiery stature – she is like one who has survived the most dangerous journey of all. She is disintegrating, shouting and stamping and dissolving the boundaries of her body. She is taking herself apart before our sceptical gaze. All fire and fate, she spins her enigma around us, and pulls into the awesome risk of her dance. With a dark tragic rage, shouting, she hurls her hungers, her doubts, her terrors, and her secular prayer for more light into the spaces around her. Then she stamps out the dampness from her soul. When the music starts, she begins to dance, with ritual slowness. I want you to see her in deep shadow, and fear. I want to dwell for a little while on this dancer because, though a very secular example, she speaks very well for the power of human transcendence. She knows she has to dance her way past her limitations, and that this may destroy her forever. Somebody has wounded her with words, alluding to the fact that she has no fire, or ‘duende’. “A flamenco dancer, lurking under a shadow, prepares of the terror of her dance.
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