I want to go dancing again.  No, strike that.  I want to dance again.  I'm ready todance again.  Out loud.  In front of an audience bigger than my picture window.  It doesn't hurt to dance, anymore.  To sway about , to move. 

My body is different now.  I've let it get too big, too expansive.  Carrying it around is work.  The other day, in the darkness of meditation, as I was coming back to the limbs and core I did not feel, the limbs and core I dove under for refreshment of my soul, my spirit cried out,

"It's too restrictive to live in this body"

There is sadness. Deep, deep sadness.Sadness that I leave that well of peace.  I know it's inside me.  Living is feeling hard again.I remember that weightlessness of meditation, of close calls and I long for it again.  I also long for the feeling of moving, light and able.  When I propel myself forward, forgetting that I am in this body of my making, things happen.  Bumps on the head, accidents, good fencing days.  One never knows what to expect.

I am one hundred pounds over weight.  It's always been a part of my being to deal with a large body intermittently.  The last few years have not mysteriously brought this body to me.  It is of my choosing the wrong things.  Yes, there has been immobility not of my choosing due to the past, but I have made wrong choices for my being.  I want to help others, yet the one I need to help the most is myself.  Helping others can be as deadly a narcotic as heroin.  I lose sight of the damage it does not to care for myself first until fatigue shows up and I  am forced to see my bloated, depleted self. 

I see people caring for themselves, making the changes necessary for their health and longevity and I want that impetus, that momentum they are generating for themselves.  Instead, I am mired in ennui.  I need the key to change myself.

This dance is with myself.  Which part of me will I allow to lead?

Blessings