I just read a Paulo Coehlo blog post about how dance lets our spirit move through the universe unhindered, away from its routine. I remember losing my spirit for a while, it got bored of my apathy and self pity and it wandered off alone to find adventure without me. We met again in Rio in a hip hop club made out of corrugated iron, where olive skinned drummers beat tight skinned drums and big black men sucked on pipes of marajuna. I remember standing there in a blue dress and red high heels, the air hot and sticky and I remember feeling like a pale tall doll in this room full of dark beats and unwired hips.

I hadn't seen my spirit since it left me on the side of a train station in south London, it left me when my heart fell out and refused to get up from the tracks. I didn't know if I would see it again. So when we met up on the other side of the world, I knew it had chosen then for a reason. I knew it came then to tell me who I was, to tell me that only when I dance to my own rhythmn is it happy, only when I feed my soul with the beat of being alive can it stay with me. I danced so much that night that my dress stuck to me and my hair became damp curls that swung about my neck.  I remember going out into the dawn like a ragged doll, whilst my spirit clung to me and whispered songs of gratitude.

A woman I know described herself recently as an Anglo Saxon shell with an indigenous soul, she said that when the drum starts its impossible not to move. Sometimes when I think I am only that shell, I can feel my spirit get restless and want to leave. I know she wants to experience life in my shoes, but she won't wait forever for me to put them on.

Hmmm..those footsteps that you sometimes you hear late at night, is it you without your shoes on?



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