Bailar... Y Sentir El Ritmo...

Bailar es vivir... Bah, no creo un verbo de esto. Escribir, tal vez, o leer, o correr, o amor... Amor, por cierto. Pero me falta el ritmo...

Anyhow, my mom's trying to teach me to dance. I have no rhythm. None. I'm a walking hyperbole when it comes to that, actually. When I was little, I clapped in between all the other kids. Never understood why. If I happened to slide into pattern for a few notes, by freakish chance... it scared me. I felt almost too caught up in it. I'm the type that often goes into nearly ecstatic states. I occasionally feel almost like I'm coming out of myself, like I'm part of everything. For this reason... I avoid drugs like the plague. Also because I know I'd get addicted. But getting into rhythm... does that... and I don't like it. Same as on the road. I tend to go about a mile below the speed limit, because right on that line, we're all moving together... bah. Rhythm frightens me. I follow the rhythms of speech, well enough, and sometimes I think I can almost feel the rhythm of the earth under my feet. But whether that makes sense or not, whether I can or not, well... suffice to say that I hear nothing in music but words and poetry and a pretty sound.

She's trying to teach me to dance. Starts with footwork. Real simple stuff, like from aerobics. I start getting it... a little.... But it's all memorization, all calculation.

"Do you feel the rhythm?"

"... No..."

"Do you feel the rhythm?

"... No..."

"Just feel the rhythm! Don't listen to me, listen to the music!"

"...."

"Do you feel the rhythm?"

"... No..."

Still, my footwork slowly progresses. Then she tells me to put the arms in. Actually suggests it might help. But it all falls apart. Move two things at once? You're kidding? You might say I'm the type who can't walk and talk at the same time. In fact I can. But only because I'm so good at talking.

But to dance? You're kidding?