Slave To The Rhythm

The wall pounded behind her as if she was trying to keep an angry mob from barging through a door. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, arms raised above her head as her legs moved in rhythm with the music. She could feel someone watching her the way you can when they narrow focus and she could feel astral fingers trying to pry into her. Seeking some kind of grasp with which to pull. And her back slid down the surface behind her, her shapely legs controlling every movement and lifting her again as the music shifted to another tune.

It is a bizarre behavior, to dance. Natural, but bizarre. Any repetitive task, if a musical beat exists, starts to synchronize itself to the rhythm. The knees of a child bend then bounce when a song strikes their fancy. We are surrounded by sound and, when it organizes into something discernible, we rejoice. At the clubs I used to go to, with all my friends, some would get up on stage and soak in the spotlight as they manipulated their limbs into seductive dance, while others would find a little corner somewhere, close their eyes and let the beat carry them to an inner world.

I've never seen another species intentionally dance. Not to say they don't do it when I'm not looking.

Each generation seeks to define itself from the last. Clothing, hairstyles, dance and social issues of concern become the defining points. Some think that music and dance corrupts people but, in the end, there is no stopping it. It bursts from us. It won't be contained. I'm all for expression. Let it out so we can look at it and decide what it is. Take the stage, let your limbs move and enjoy the vibrating world around you. Meld with it, shape it, become it and show us what you've found.