Watch a pair of dancers for more than two seconds and you will know.

They are either in the flow — or just executing movements to the music.

Same flick of the head, bend at the waist, release of the shoulder.   Same footwork moving from point A to point B. 

And yet.

You know the difference.  This one just looks like it feels sooooo right.  And it is.

There’s knowing the steps, and then, there’s letting yourself become the steps.

Fusing with the energy in your partner, the crowd, the beat of the music — and anything that is part of that moment that you can pull in through your senses and simply, let it flow through you.

How simple it seems when you are in it.

And how abysmally hopeless it can sometimes feel — when you are not.

At times my experiences with romancing the flow resemble Frank Costanza’s “serenity now” — a command yelled at the top of my lungs while clenching both fists and holding my breath.  

And as you might expect, my stubborn insistence — okay, tantrums — only serve to remind me that I’m hangin on way too tight to something or someone. 

“Drop it!” followed by going limp like an actress in a fainting scene seems to unstick me most of the time these days. 

And then, ever so lightly, I am peace like a river.

It is well — it is well with my soul.

My art flows from the patterns & paths of my lived experience which ⏤ like yours ⏤ are at once deeply personal and entirely universal.

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