i danced // 2017

"The Baal Shem Tov danced and leaped as he prayed, and his congregation danced too. Hasids today dance and leap. Dancing is no mere expression; it is an achievement. Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav noticed that if the dancers could persuade a melancholy person to join them, his sadness would lift.
. . .
And if you are that melancholy person, he taught, persuade yourself to dance, for it is 'an achievement to struggle and pursue that sadness, bringing it into the joy.'"

-Annie Dillard, For the Time Being

winter // 20mg. new help. clean sheets. interim.
I think if I'd met Rabbi Nachman in January, he would've knelt down and gazed into my tired eyes with his old, soulful ones, grasped my hands in his and gently pulled me to a standing position. He would begin to sway back and forth to some unheard tune, engaging my weary bones in the gentle motion reminiscent of a lazy forest breeze. "And you, what do you fear?" he would ask, swaying. My mind would bump clumsily along with my feet, drifting over the dozens of things that clouded the sunsets and made each flower pale a little as if choked by a layer of dust. "Fear itself," I would respond, shakily. Fear itself. It's a good thing people exist who will walk so willingly alongside you through those darkened places. People to dance with, even if the dance is merely a shaky, silent swaying.

spring // finish year 1. finish year 4. ink. graduation.
My first dance was not with the Rabbi in January, but with about 500 strangers in May, a week after I'd turned 18. It was not a lazy, winding forest breeze but a jostling, almost violent river current, and I was swept away. After being refused grace by one community, I'd decided to seek it out in other places. And I found it, and I lost it, and I found it again. I'm still searching.

I did a lot of writing. I asked a lot of questions and I wrote a lot of words. I decided that I liked that combination, and I decided to make it my life's mission to never stop searching. I declared a minor in philosophy to keep my English major company. The partnership of endless questions and endless combinations of words to illustrate them is daunting and exhilarating. I finished my first year of college and graduated from high school, in that order. A fresh start. Fresh places and new faces. "She is a lover of words, a seeker of truth," I once heard him say. I danced with the spirit of one given a new life. Truly, all things were being made new.

summer // florida. music. coffee. independence. prep.
I fell in love. We sat on the edge of a cliff and watched the sun strike the St. Croix 200 feet below only to see the light to dance off again as if pulled by a thousand invisible strings, held by one all-encompassing hand. The thought of this giant hand holding me along with all those many strands of light should've made me feel very small and yet I was unafraid. Bathed in the mist from a waterfall, the scent of lavender permeating the air, I learned how a love bound by earthly restrictions could also be - and later, be set free by a love purely divine. The same divine love that a giant hand holds, along with all the light and all the darkness and me, this hand orchestrating all those things. The puzzlemaster. And I danced in the midst of the mist and the light and the lavender because in losing love, I received grace and was introduced to a different Love much greater than any I'd known before.

fall // the wrong dance. missteps. relapse. messed up. caught. 
It's almost funny, the kind of frantic determination to *~*find oneself~*~ that can be procured by significant trauma. I googled "anniversary effect" and was angered at the notion that it was even possible. I launched into a kind of dance that was not graceful and hardly reflective of the woman I would wish people to know me to be. Eventually the tune changed to embody hope and the dance along with it, but damage had been done. The brief, regretful interlude had been painful and all-too-familiar, but I'm glad I danced, because at least I was moving.

winter // reconciliation. another graduation. clean sheets.
When the snow fell, I questioned everything I knew. The questions I'd been introduced to in the spring suddenly multiplied and the army was angry and bright red. They stood out against the backdrop of pale yellow like blood spatter, seemingly in protest of the complacency of the yellow. I considered running, going someplace where the crimson would blend a little better, where my voice would harmonize more easily with those around me. But then I remembered that strength can come in subtlety, too. And I looked down at my tattoo and took a deep breath and allowed myself to sink a little deeper into the discomfort. "Easy" is not the end goal, and easy is rarely rewarding anyway. So I stayed and I danced to my own rhythm, the rhythm of which sounded like peace and purpose peace and purpose peace and purpose.

onward // 
2017 was a shock to the system. We cried way too much, but also not enough. We saw victory and destruction. We made mistakes and we made progress. We are better, but we still have a long ways to go.

As for me, I learned what it means to encounter life - in all its brutality and beauty - holding a posture of grace. Grace for the heartbreak, for the heartbroken. For the brother, for the threat. For the moments of fear and for the most tangible outpourings of peace and promise of newness. Grace for the community, and grace for the days when its better to be dancing alone. (And you are allowed to dance alone.)

I learned how to humble myself and ask for help. I learned how to communicate when words were next to impossible. I learned to say yes, and I learned the value of pause. And the sunsets are prettier now and the flowers have regained their normal, brilliant hues. And I'm still dancing.

//

peace and purpose

for the coming new year.

bold faith,

empowered truth,

strengthened hope.

and may they

know

love.

see you in 2018.

.h

A song to conclude 2017, a song to sway to: In Evergreen // Rhoda, Lion Detective Club