Music moved me, as did those who could emote it so colorfully that I had to move with the heart of it. On weekends I went into the garage to dance with the vibrations and sounds that stirred my body into its own weather system. I payed my brothers a dollar a day to dance with me too. This only happened on special days.
In the depth of night, under the covers I heard music in silence and choreographed it into movements. I could see thousands of souls dancing to my creations, right there in the night of my room.
I was fascinated by Helen Keller and Louis Braille. I remember the first time I did an oral report in elementary school, I told the story of Louis Braille and felt as if my voice was a violin playing for my class. It was an odd, out of body experience. I was suddenly aware of me talking with a new and gentle power. As I spoke their heads tilted and swayed in a slow dance of response to the compassion in my voice. Our eyes met in the air and we lived without sight. Just for a few moments we were blind geniuses too. I walked home in silence, surprised. I never used my words as a violin before, and could not find it again for many years to follow. I didn’t know where it went and missed it. Yet it stirred and gained flavor by living.
In time I found my way back to storytelling. To letting my voice ripple with the messages heard from the hearts in front of me, and the invisible souls surrounding me. To choreograph and story tell through the lift of a chin or a sigh and a song.
We are always becoming more. Life is always stirring, even when its still or thought to be gone
