First is the intro of the music and the slight anticipatory sway of my body.
First is the blank page and the eager word choice.
Suddenly, there is an intense looseness of my movements to the beat, and the feeling of fluidity sets in.
Suddenly, there is a spark of clear thought, and all distractions are mute.
I’m in synch with the sounds. Every pirouette, every move. All with explosive grace and erratic control.
I’m in synch with knowing exactly what I want to say. Every word, every point. All with no regard or doubt.
Now nothing exists but my body across the stage.
Now nothing exists but my mind on the page.
The entanglement of song and dance is about to end. I could keep going, but the rush of the conclusive crescendo satisfies me.
The entanglement of mind and screen is about to end. I could keep going, but my mind is purged, and I am proud.
Dance is writing. Writing is a dance.