Still.
That terrifying word that asks for nothing--and everything. The fearful call it static; the receptive, moving within. You must pull back from the noise and the commitments, taking care to bring each strand, those silken threads that connect you to things outside yourself, back into you, like a stray hair that you tuck once again behind your ear or coil around your bun.
Find your footing, the stillness says. Feel the way the ground presses against the pads of your feet as if hugging them. Let go of the need to run, the ragged motion keeping your soles from this earth. Here, that is where you will find your center. Not out there, here, with blades of grass slipping between your toes, the scent of rain in the air.
Become comfortable with the space you have created for silence (that most elusive of creatures, hardest of all to find and keep); relish the rich fullness that emerges in the absence of white noise, the whispers you can hear when you tune out the empty chatter.
To be still. Now that is a worthy dance.
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