The Dance
Don’t drink the Waters of Lethe. Then you can remember the Dance and …
Dive below the surface. No more is the Floyd, a river of green, unseen as it slides beneath the trees.
Go with the laughing flow. It’s endless summer and the Salmon of Wisdom is not swimming upstream today.
Take in the synchronicity moment. Did you see the butterfly’s hurricane-shredded wings drift into your hair as you kiss?
Tune into balance. 90.1 MHz on the medium wave-band: Icarus trips the light fantastic, not too close to the sun above nor the sea below.
Feel the beat. The feet of dharma bums tap out the rhythm.
Be spontaneous. When they dream of foxtrots and bunny hops, sometimes let sleeping dogs speak the truth.
Stay light on your toes. Gravity is for the deluded, who fall away from transcendance, too heavy to be lifted by the crane who takes nine hopping-and-skipping steps ere she leaps for joy into the air and flies.
Engage. May I have the pleasure of this next dance?
We – the Dervishes Naked & Amazed – could jive-whirl the double-helix.
We – the nine ladies dancing and the ten lords a-leaping – could spiral round Yggdrasill, entwining its many world branches.
We – the Green Man and the May Queen – could dance carols round the May pole. The verses spin up and snake along our spines, which each become an Axis Mundi for the ever-turning universe.
Spiral Scribbles 