Surfing

I’m not talking ballet here. I’m trying to explain the hedony. I throw myself forward lusting into the Dionysian spontaneity. The arena is carnality alive, and all of us are hungry sybarites while the music plays. We blare, and trumpet, and thunder. I do not fall into their arms expecting asylum.  And yet, there is a safe core where the rhythm is deep enough to hold me if I dive in, so long as I keep time with my body while I ride to the shore. This is not sanctuary but an entry point. The dance begins in the air.

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Linking up here with Trifecta, this week brought to you by the word “safe”.

This is also my submission for Lance’s 100 word song response. This week’s song is The Black Crows’ Hotel Illness. My response is as much to the group as this specific tune. I heart The Black Crows.

About jesterqueen:
Jessie Powell is the Jester Queen. She likes to tell you about her dog, her kids, her fiction, and her blog, but not necessarily in that order.

Comments

Surfing — 23 Comments

  1. My heart always thinks it can dance better than my head knows it can . . . and certainly more than my feet can .. . . but I have music in my soul – and find it this piece. Thanks

    • "May have been" I like your safe wording there ;P Truthfully, though, I've never even been part of the ocean. I get squirmy in a hurry in confined spaces these days, so I may never do it, either. Somehow, having two children with no concept of personal space has turned me COMPLETELY claustrophobic.

  2. I think you captured it, Jester. There is a certain safety in leaping into the arms of people who are just as moved by the music as you are. There is also a little bit of pain, as I remember. Lots of hands, some of them forgetful and some of them opportunistic.

    Thanks for sharing this with us. I love the mix of music and words.

    Hope to see you back for the weekend challenge.

  3. I always imagined there could be a moment like that, surfing the crowd, like a trust fall but deeper, but I never thought of it with quite that much power.

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