Artists strive for perfection. But what they often fail to see is that the beauty, the humanity, lies within the flaws.
O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
Where life used to feel overcrowded, it now feels boundless as the sky. Where I used to feel shackled, I am now free to dance.
If you listen to music daily, you find strength of survival.
My feet were keeping in time with the music, but my heart was pounding out a different rhythm altogether.
She who is a dancer can only sway the silk of her hair like the summer breeze.
Now I am going to reveal to you something which is very pure, a totally white thought. It is always in my heart; it blooms at each of my steps… The Dance is love, it is only love, it alone, and that is enough… I, then, it is amorously that I dance: to poems, to music but now I would like to no longer dance to anything but the rhythm of my soul.
Dance. Smile. Giggle. Marvel. TRUST. HOPE. LOVE. WISH. BELIEVE. Most of all, enjoy every moment of the journey, and appreciate where you are at this moment instead of always focusing on how far you have to go.
Words his soul danced to.
Passion drove her deeper, into the abyss beneath his skin where she mapped his soul to the dance of his heartbeat…