Dancer

I heard someone say once: "when words fail, and expression is nonetheless necessary, we have art." I sometimes think that maybe we had art all along, and words were getting in the way. Or maybe it wasn't the words themselves, but our need to interpret them in some way, even if totally incorrect. I find words insufficient for my current circumstances, and also expression necessary. But, I'm not much of a poet or a painter or a musician. I know I can't sculpt or make anything adequate for this impossible mixture of joy, wonderment, love, and lust. Yet, I so desire to share it, even if only a glimpse. So, what becomes of me, of all this, when words fail?

I think we all have some outlet. For me, I'd say I am more of a dancer, I guess, because I tend to think that what I do is my art rather than what I say or paint or produce. I am the physical, moving, living world that feels and knows me, and that world can know me best. That world can watch me, undress me, clothe me. It can kiss me or make love to me and when it does I become one with that lost side. I embrace it and while the false half-world around me vanishes, I gain those real moments when I give all of myself. My body becomes my art so much as it can join you, delight you, and please you. You provide this world. I was built to entice you far less than to endure and accommodate, and you will see that this is true, if you decide to challenge me...