The Dance Maker

 

My past is fractured – a broken barren landscape of losses and disappointments.

Our past is fractured – littered with the suffering of millions. Is it our responsibility to remember it, for it is engraved in the archetypes we live with, consciously and unconsciously?

We all have broken hearts. It seems that we can only love with broken hearts. We all have lame legs and twisted feet. It seems that we can only dance when accepting our imperfections and imbalances. Only then can we remove the veil of the sun in front of the universe to be in the night-time, where we can see beyond, like in Sabra Field’s quote?

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Somewhere in the deep of the Karoo

An old woman is struggling with a dream-dance

With fractured hips and twisted feet

On a small and kithless globe

Drifting in boundless space

 

 

The dancemaker is watching her every move

With faraway eyes looking into the night

Of the darkest black, moving his lithe body

Like a serval, touching the air

In multivariant octopi-arm movements

 

He, the dance master, moving with such abandon -

She challenges her existence

In the dark chaos of contradiction

Stumbling over the serpentine sidesteps

In a choreography that eludes her

 

As she is, so she sees

The time in her, a rushing river beyond control

And feel the inner torrent

Caught up in a fissure

In a broken barren battlefield

 

And she dances love with a broken heart

And a fractured past

Timeless in a white skirt and tights

On a marbled floor, drawing away the veil of the sun

In front of the universe - becoming night-time