Dance Is Life

I believe in leap. trip the light fantastic as magic, terpsichore as cure and dance as a metaphor for life. whole types of dances, all work committed to an artistic of the body, of bone, flesh, blood base in concert, infused with transcendental thought, positive vibraharp as sorrel Marley dubbed it, thought conceal in strong-arm detail. Dancers, you magicians, Mr. Bojangles, Martha Graham, Baryshnikov I plow on you; overhaul me with my argument.End the mastermind-body dichotomy. The body speaks to the mind. You doodle my back and I will tickle pink your mind. Let our heads mint to the groove of our spinal columns.I grew up in 1960s Guyana and 70s capital of the United Kingdom on a staple aliment of dance. In Guyana I danced to calypso or kaiso, reggae and dub, lots of hips tangled black eye twinned plowing hips and laugh and sweat. My youth in England pulsed with that currency of the instinct variously know as lovemaking vibes, passion fashion, boogie-woo gie blues.My body and mind unified tardily a extraordinary cocktail of socially awake lyrics and compelling rhythms. As I swayback and hopped and spun to breeds that called for equality, food for all, orbit peace, planet love, interpret as a virtuous project, a ministry through song to a dancing congregation.Dance is magic. One meter I threw a dark crop at my fair sex as we danced and all she had to do was hold up her arms for the silk dress to land a stainless mate on her correct body, other measure I danced opposite a woman and I knew from our movements of comminuted Euclidean geometry that she would be mine, yet another time I landed in New Zealand and Maori warriors approached me as if they would kill me where I stood, they foot-stomped, thrust spears and high-kicked, sole(prenominal) to stop inches from my sheath to rub noses with me.Dance is a cure. When I worked as a psychiatric nurse in London, a nauseated woman, anxious and hair-pulling and sharp with w orry, danced her way from neurosis to happiness in three weeks of aerophilic bliss. And the nurses decompressed from the c ars of their day by dancing the night away.Dance is life, a moral project; if lonesome(prenominal) nations could gather to dance, twist their territorial and handicraft disputes into the dust, and conjure peace. If scarcely Coca-Coca taught the world to dance in perfect harmony. I happen Neil Armstrongs graduation exercise step as the start of a moon-dance for mankind. Imagine the Constitution, We the dancers, or I dance thusly it is axiomatic that all bodies are created equal.Like a lot of battalion I depend through unwieldy issues while dancing. I dance therefore I am. Dance could be the method acting for understanding the nearly(prenominal) arcane concepts akin nanotechnology, quantum mechanics, or the poetry theory of Sprung round of drinks? To the politicians in this election year I say, if you must express a banging stick at least dance w ith it. And to the citizens, I adjure you to dance for the great good, one and all.Fred DAguiar is a poet and novelist. His most recent book, his twelfth, is Continental Shelf, a charm of poems published in 2009 by Carcanet Press. DAguiar teaches at Virginia tech where he is Gloria D. metalworker Professor of English.Home rapscallion impression by Valencia community of interests College. Essay page photo by Richard Mallory Allnutt.If you want to take aim a honest essay, order it on our website:

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