I've started developing my own choreography to songs and, not being athletic, some of the hardest movements are the highest or the lowest. And having sensitive skin, I have a hard time when anything but my [covered] feet are on the floor.
But there's a very good feeling when I'm stretching my whole body out on the floor, then sitting up and tucking my small feet underneath me as I move my arms and spread out my fingers to the sky. I guess you could compare it to a cat stretching. But for me, it's more of a sensation of smallness and vulnerability. Kneeling in older culture is a sign of submission (or respect, depending on the position and culture) and raising your arms up high is often a sign of freedom (or worship of God). So it is leaving yourself open.
Then I curl my arms in or simply drop them to my lap and bow my head, closing my eyes. A symbol of rest, or peace.
Dancing from the floor. An exercise in and of itself, but also an artistic expression. And for those without legs, a very appropriate way to dance. Generally listed under "freestyle" and often combined with other dance steps (because yes you can do a lot with your arms but people usually want to see more), I would offer to say that everyone should try it. It is a challenge yes, but I could argue easier to do if you're not worried about "stepping in time" to music. And when done to worship music, dancing from the floor is a graceful and beautiful way to do more than sing to God.
So often in the American culture I live in, our proud and independent spirits refuse to bend, bow, or kneel. I am no less than anyone else, is the running thought. I am just as important. I am special. We rebel against the thought of being brought to our knees.
But the strange thing is that those of us who have fallen down have a better understanding of when to stand and when to kneel. When to be firm and when to get down. When to speak and when to be silent. For we understand vulnerability. We understand weakness and strength. Tasted betrayal, heartbreak, loss. Our empathy for the hurting and the wanderers is greater than before we were brought down. But we also must rise again.
That time comes and goes. Just remember, dear reader, that when there is no lower place to go, you can still dance from the floor.
But there's a very good feeling when I'm stretching my whole body out on the floor, then sitting up and tucking my small feet underneath me as I move my arms and spread out my fingers to the sky. I guess you could compare it to a cat stretching. But for me, it's more of a sensation of smallness and vulnerability. Kneeling in older culture is a sign of submission (or respect, depending on the position and culture) and raising your arms up high is often a sign of freedom (or worship of God). So it is leaving yourself open.
Then I curl my arms in or simply drop them to my lap and bow my head, closing my eyes. A symbol of rest, or peace.
Dancing from the floor. An exercise in and of itself, but also an artistic expression. And for those without legs, a very appropriate way to dance. Generally listed under "freestyle" and often combined with other dance steps (because yes you can do a lot with your arms but people usually want to see more), I would offer to say that everyone should try it. It is a challenge yes, but I could argue easier to do if you're not worried about "stepping in time" to music. And when done to worship music, dancing from the floor is a graceful and beautiful way to do more than sing to God.
So often in the American culture I live in, our proud and independent spirits refuse to bend, bow, or kneel. I am no less than anyone else, is the running thought. I am just as important. I am special. We rebel against the thought of being brought to our knees.
But the strange thing is that those of us who have fallen down have a better understanding of when to stand and when to kneel. When to be firm and when to get down. When to speak and when to be silent. For we understand vulnerability. We understand weakness and strength. Tasted betrayal, heartbreak, loss. Our empathy for the hurting and the wanderers is greater than before we were brought down. But we also must rise again.
That time comes and goes. Just remember, dear reader, that when there is no lower place to go, you can still dance from the floor.
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