Dance Catch Fire

"Yerma" Trailer

There is a brief period, a pause if you will, between being soaked by rain and being drenched in one's own sweat as you dance in a storm.  It is there that you realise that the heat of one's own body, and the bodies of others in the vicinity, begins to be an insulator for the body without and within the skin.  The integument.  Waterproof by nature, only to be greatly aided by an increase in the temperature of the self relative to the environment.  We do not thirst.  We have all the moisture we need for many moments to come.  We are unafraid of the outcome of the night, because it will end at an apex for everyone.  It is the dawn of the new day that will bring about a gradient in a sense, but we do not think of the future.  There is the present and the moments now are the only moments that we live by.  These moments are what matter.

And the dance will catch fire... 

It is in our nature to burn like the sun, yet we ourselves are not burned, though are faces do become flush with the tinge of fire's hue.  We are our own suns, brightly illuminating each self world that we create, and creating the heat that kindles our souls.  And through our self-generation, there is regeneration and through regeneration there are future generations.  Generation of generations.  It is the fire with which we radiate that touches our neighbours first.  Convection, travelling through the currents of air that serves as a transport for the heat that we wish to give but we are not within reach.  How our neighbour responds will determine the nature of the action and reaction of bodies in space.  We all form the constellation of generous welcome.  Where five or more are gathered in one locale in the name of merry meeting, it is this circle that serves best to see the faces of the friendly.  Spinning, swirling, like madness but with all senses intact - heightened even in a state of hypersensitivity.

And the dance will catch fire...

Now we are in a state of greatest heat.  Estrus.  No longer human.  A letting go of the mind.  We are as base as the animals in our needs for the bodies to come together, clasped, enmeshed.  Rain will tumble from the gaping mouths of clouds but will have no effect on the bodies lying below because they are covered and surrounded by heat.  Where we are the heat is greater than the rain that is pitiful in its attempt to cool us.  It is not hell but a Paradise.  Hell is a loneliness that is cold, so it must be that the heat is the life of the everlasting.  Heat is forever.  The Devil is here, but only because he prowls about the world seeking the heat that he so misses.  During the day the sun may even show its face while the rain rears a diluvial fate upon us- the Devil and his Wife are having an argument, some say.  At night we shall dance and prance entranced.  We shall not tire.  Sweat shields the deluge by creating its own, and bodies cover bodies in its own form of protection.  Companionship, fleeting or sustained.   Like supercharged electromagnets whose white hot opposite poles upon collision do explode in a flash of passion.  Each person's flames engulfes the other yet they are not burned.  They are not cleansed either, definitely not in the spiritual sense.  But we are healed, this is what everyone believes.  The needs of each other are met. 

And the dance will catch fire...

Emancipation

Yesterday it rained. Life is like a dream of children dancing in the summer rain. But there was no dancing. There are no children here. Instead, there were many people trying to get out of the rain that they had been asking for for days. Instead of relishing in the cool, cathartic rain, they prayed for the nightmarish heat to return. The torrential downpour was sudden, catching the vast majority of people off-guard, at least those who did not tune in to the weather regularly. He, of course, was one of these people. He sighed and continued walking up the street. Shoes drenched. The squelch of leather against soaked skin and flooded sidewalk. He noticed that the children were all gone. They would play in the park further down the block, delightfully splashing under the man-made jets of water that shot up from an invisible, seemingly-infinite source. The adults knew better; tax dollars well spent on city park activities. But as the grape-sized droplets fell from the laden clouds, aided by gravity, there were no children in sight. No one played in the rain anymore. This fear of nature, of the natural source of the nourishment of all living things, bothered him a little. For the past few days, society blanched in the unbearable heat, unable to concentrate, unable to adequately socialize without shade, cool artificial breezes and cold beverages. Now that there was a marked drop in humidity and temperature, there were many who cowered in fear. Umbrellas were ineffective attempts at shelter. Nobody knew what they wanted. There was heat, and they complained. Now there is no heat but a lot of wet, and again the masses are unsatisfied.
He reached his destination, paused and looked up. The droplets were cool, refreshing, suitable reprieve from the swelter of days past. He smiled. Once more around the block, why not? His arms outstretched, shuffling feet upgraded to a mere amble. His daring increased exponentially with each step. Soon, he was dancing in the rain, to the tunes of the Water Waltz, the Rain Robot, the Storm Swing. Nobody was around to judge him anyway, or they were hurriedly seeking shelter and did not join in the party. He embraced the precipitation that made the ground pulse with fervor, falling rain that lifted his spirits. Carefree, problems on hold. A liquid panacea. He inhaled life and exhaled doubt.
Across the street, a woman is moving into her new apartment. She walks to her sport utility vehicle and opens the back door. Unknown to her, a black pair of underwear falls out of a bag and saunters its way down the block in the newly formed rivulet between sidewalk and roadway. Incognizant, she continues her busy task and returns to her building. He watches it float away, lost forever in the rapid deluge, its lot is to be eroded by time and the elements. It is the fate of unnoticed objects. From the building she just walked into, a man and his daughter walk out. He asks her loudly if she wanted to go play in the rain. She looks up in the sky with eyes barely two years old, and does not move from the step. He asks her to say yes daddy. She does and his delight is evident as he picks her up and walks into the torrent. The rain hits her on the face - she flinches and buries her head into her father's shoulder. It is a painful endeavor for her. The father sees this and wordlessly carries her back indoors; both are soaked and defeated.
He didn't feel like dancing anymore; he was dancing alone anyway and who does that? The steady plops sharpened to stinging drops. There were no means of a quick escape from this onslaught. He too had had enough and now wished for the rain to cease... and as abruptly as the downpour began, so too was it abated. His emancipation was short lived. Umbrellas shook around him, a round of applause for the end of an unexpected discomfort. He turned around and headed for home.