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Thursday, June 13, 2013
There is something so beautiful about people when they dance. They don't even have to be very good at it. The act of dancing - of moving one's body in time with the pulses of the music (whether heard or imagined) - is like a physical manifestation of freedom. It's raw. It's alive. It's vulnerable. It's beautiful.
Choreographed dancing is one thing. When two bodies mesh and somehow become extensions of each other; when a mass of performers manages to tap with the same rhythm; when one free soul bends and contorts into impossible pretzel-like formations and makes it look effortless - this is the definition of exquisite. The amount of energy and time and practice and pain that goes into perfecting a single piece is almost unmatched anywhere else. Dancers put themselves through hell and push themselves far beyond society's physical limitations and make what they do look easy. Dancing is not easy. Dancing is brave.
Then there are those hidden moments when you catch someone dancing who believes they are alone. People tend to be more reckless when they are alone and that shows so much when they dance. They don't really care how they look or what tricks and flips they can do. All they care about is how the music makes them feel. And it brings such an inexplicable joy to their hearts that they can't help but move in time.
But my favorite kind of dancing is when it's done as a form of worship. An overpowering sense of how much the Designer loves us completely sweeps someone over and they don't know what else to do but dance. They forget who else is in the room, what they aren't capable of, and how ridiculous they look. The only thing on their mind is the agape that is shared between Father and child and how they wish more than anything to express it.
The temple comes alive. The threadbare carpet becomes a stage. And the dozens of pairs of eyes that look on all melt into the background. The worshiper is performing for an audience of One. And it is so indescribably beautiful.