If we knew with certainty our posthumous fate, we'd know contentment, but there'd be no dancing.
We dance because part of us still fears the shadow and, like the
frenzied ladies of Dionysus, we answer the shadow's silence with thunder
and ecstasy.
If we had never been injured, we'd know bliss, but there'd be no dancing. We dance in earnestness because there is a part of us that weathers indignity and draws power from that which assaults us.
If we had never been misunderstood, we'd know universal sympathy, but there would be no dancing.
We dance with abandon because we have come to know and celebrate
ourselves despite that which endeavors to define us downward
If we had no gravity, we'd know effortless motion, but there would be no dancing.
We dance in a frenzy because the constant pull down has forced us to
push ourselves up. The relentless drawing force has solidified our
bones and empowered our muscles. We press against the unquiet Earth
and through its influence walk, run, sing and dance: because fellowship persists despite enmity; because life thrives in defiance of fear; because
we are intensely, exuberantly, passionately alive: as alive as the wolf
howl carried aloft by summer winds through the moon-silvered forest.