I like to play in the shadows, with the shadows. The mudras reflect, playing in the shallow and deep waters. My dance is a tribute to life. It is my very essence. It speaks volumes about me, my slow hand movement paralyzing time, seeing it for what it is. In waves my body moves, delicate, timeless movement. In this time of chaos, strife and terror, my writing is my anchor like my dance. Both part of me, my very essence.
Dancing and Writing is intimate to me. It is the divine union of Shakti and Shiva, the yin and yang. Therefore it is a private process, whether in solitude or loneliness shall I write and dance, only the moment tells. In the fantastical realities, I bow down to the great Nataraja, the Cosmic Dancer and begin my ritual of worship.
The whirl of the khwaja vacates the vessel, my body, revealing itself slowly, one layer after another. The movements come to me, lifting me effortlessly, emptying me in one moment and filling me in another … I don’t know when the whirl of the dervish will hit, nor do I know when elegancy sitting still in my fingers will appear in waves.
It is almost magical, like the force of life. When I dance, life comes to a full circle.
Dance, poetry in movement combined with creative writing is the union of the body and its soul. The divinity comes when lovemaking happens.
Two separate entities deconstructed and fitted into one.
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