I once read a quote by C.S. Lewis that said: “You are a soul. You have a body.”
There is much pressure in this world to take care of the body, multi-million dollar companies feed off of such mantras. But, as I am in total agreeance with Mr. Lewis, we are souls not merely bodies. Bodies are fragile; they become decrepit and obsolete with time. But the soul, the soul is immortal, immune to disease, famine, and poverty. Why not take care of our souls and have our bodies follow suit?
I may be blabbering a bit, but I find solace in writing. It is visually enticing to see one’s innermost wishes, dreams, and thoughts out in the open. Tangible enough to seem real, but imaginable enough to seem a utopia.
I speak of souls because I have been repairing mine. Dutifully I have been creating a patchwork of the person that I once knew. Sadness in times like these are inevitable and no doubt keep tissue making companies in high demand. There is beauty that comes from pain. Like the cliche says, it is always darkest before the dawn. That makes this rubbish feel a little less like rubbish. I believe that’s what they call hope.
This is my introduction to you. I feel rude just to barge in and share my thoughts on the internet without a proper invitation. So if you would be so kind as to excuse me as I take up this tiny corner of the web to create my own little world, document my life, post book reviews, and quite possibly a good dozen or so recipes.
It’s hard to dance. That is a fragment from the lyrics to “Shake it Out” by Florence and the Machine. It reminds me of that movie “Dinner for Schmucks”. They say I’m a dreamer but I’m not. It’s a Steve Carell film. “It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake it out” is the full line.
Without getting into a theological debate, one cannot debunk the fact that dancing when a grievous depression is hanging sullenly upon your shoulders is improbable if not impossible. There is a lack of beat, of motion, of sensuousness that fuels the art of dancing. When we are happy, we feel beautiful. When we feel beautiful, we dance. Unstoppable. Beaming. Glowing with such a ferocity that it becomes hard to ignore let alone join in the festivity.
It starts at our toes, deep down below any sort of consciousness, writhing its way through our legs, enticing a foot to tap. Meandering, it flows through our abdomen, squeezes our heart, releasing extra love that was once trapped between two lungs, until that smile melts across your face. You know when it happens. Perhaps you have felt it at prom, in your ballet studio, or, if you are like me, the best possible place to cut a rug: the kitchen.
While it may be hard to dance, there is the promise that to shake it out will always serve as the panacea.
So, shake it out darling.