Age is someone else's reality
When the music is playing neither my mind or body have any awareness of the years they have been around. Movement starts, it flows up and down muscles that retain their memory of every step from every stage, every dance floor.All the tensions of stress drain away to be replaced by tensions of attitude and line, the exacting control learned through years of sweat and occasionally blood as feet and flesh proved fragile under the pressures demanded of them.
My spine bends, curves, folds and unfolds while knees and hips forget the language of arthritis in the eternal song of movement. Sweat flows free, salting skin as it flexes and shifts over muscle, over bone, holding everything together in an elegant sheath heating as blood rises to the surface to fuel the dance, the joy and exaltation of freedom that music gives my system.
Where do the years go? Where are the limitations that tug at me from time to time? They do not exist in muscle memory, they do not hold up under the intoxication of the dance and my mind takes flight when music plays making me a sensation that fulfils itself without thought or consideration.
Half an hour, an hour later I am still, heart throbbing gently in its cage, lungs breathing from the bottom to the top, skin heated, making gooseflesh under the lesser warmth of December wind.
Ah and the endorphins kicking in! My whole being bathing in the drugs metabolism makes to encourage and reward mere movement.
Life is so sweet!