The dance

She dances across the stage. Sometimes every step is measured carefully and sometimes totally improvised.  It's a combination of ancient tradition and modernity with a splash of something almost mystical about it.  The music picks up speed and she races around and then suddenly her movements are almost painfully slow or maybe they are deliberately nuanced. Here body and soul and music and motion blend into one as she twirls around.  Is it ecstasy or is it desperation?  This dance is like a prayer in motion. It's poetry come to life. She misses a step, she stumbles but then resumes where she has left off.  It's a place where joy and light and holiness abound. But then a somber mood, almost melancholy and then back to the upbeat tune. She twirls and hops and jiggs and taps and saunters along with the music.  Somehow there is cohesion in all of this chaotic activity even harmony, beauty and grace.  The lights go on and then dim and then go on again. Such a lovely, lovely thing to be able to dance like that, to soar to the skies and still be attached to the ground.  Even with so much practice every time it's really a new creation, a whole new dance and a whole new experience.  A day in a life of a mother.